rma 
1 


S.  EDWIN  CORLE,  JR. 
His  Book 


THE    RETURN 
OF   DR.   FU-MANCHU 


THE  RETURN 
OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

By  SAX  ROHMER 

Author  of  "The  Insidious  Dr.  Fu-Manchu" 
"The  Yellow  Claw,"  Etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  Arrangement  with  ROBERT  M.  MCBRIDE  &  COMPANY 


Copyright,    1916,    by 
ROBERT  M.  MCBRIDE  &  Co. 


Second  Printing 
March,  iqib 

Third  Printing 
November,  iqi8 


Published   February,  1916 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS i 

II    ELTHAM  VANISHES 13 

III  THE  WIRE  JACKET 21 

IV  THE  CRY  OF  A  NIGHTHAWK 34 

V    THE  NET 42 

VI    UNDER  THE  ELMS 59 

VII    ENTER  MR.  ABEL  SLATTIN 67 

VIII    DR.  FU-MANCHU  STRIKES 73 

IX    THE  CLIMBER 88 

X    THE  CLIMBER  RETURNS 94 

XI    THE  WHITE  PEACOCK 102 

XII    DARK  EYES  LOOKED  INTO  MINE 113 

XIII  THE  SACRED  ORDER 124 

XIV  THE  COUGHING  HORROR 136 

XV    BEWITCHMENT        148 

XVI    THE  QUESTING  HANDS 158 

XVII    ONE  DAY  IN  RANGOON 167 

XVIII    THE  SILVER  BUDDHA 175 

XIX    DR.  FU-MANCHU'S  LABORATORY 180 

XX    THE  CROSS  BAR 188- 

XXI    CRAGMIRE   TOWER       204 

XXII    THE  MULATTO 212 

XXIII  A  CRY  ON  THE  MOOR 228 

XXIV  STORY  OF  THE  GABLES 239 

XXV    THE  BELLS 249 

XXVI    THE  FIERY  HAND 257 

XXVII    THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  RAID 269. 


2039511 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVIII    THE  SAMURAI'S  SWORD 277 

XXIX    THE  Six  GATES 291 

XXX    THE  CALL  OF  THE  EAST 298 

XXXI    "  MY  SHADOW  LIES  UPOI*  You  " 302 

XXXII    THE  TRAGEDY •,    .     .     .     .  311 

XXXIII  THE  MUMMY    .•-,.-........  320 


THE    RETURN 
OF   DR.   FU-MANCHU 


THE 
RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

CHAPTER  I 
A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS 

"TT7HEN    did  you   last   hear   from   Nayland 

VV    Smith?"  asked  my  visitor. 

I  paused,  my  hand  on  the  syphon,  reflecting  for  a 
moment. 

"Two  months  ago,"  I  said;  "he's  a  poor  corre- 
spondent and  rather  soured,  I  fancy." 

"  What  —  a  woman  or  something?  " 

"  Some  affair  of  that  sort.  He's  such  a  reticent 
beggar,  I  really  know  very  little  about  it." 

I  placed  a  whisky  and  soda  before  the  Rev.  J.  D. 
Eltham,  also  sliding  the  tobacco  jar  nearer  to  his 
hand.  The  refined  and  sensitive  face  of  the  clergy- 
man offered  no  indication  of  the  truculent  character 
of  the  man.  His  scanty  fair  hair,  already  gray  over 
the  temples,  was  silken  and  soft-looking;  in  appear- 
ance he  was  indeed  a  typical  English  churchman;  but 
in  China  he  had  been  known  as  "  the  fighting  mis- 
sionary," and  had  fully  deserved  the  title.  In  fact, 
this  peaceful-looking  gentleman  had  directly  brought 
about  the  Boxer  Risings ! 


2     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

1  You  know,"  he  said,  in  his  clerical  voice,  but 
meanwhile  stuffing  tobacco  into  an  old  pipe  with 
fierce  energy,  "  I  have  often  wondered,  Petrie  —  I 
have  never  left  off  wondering — " 

"What?" 

;'  That  accursed  Chinaman !  Since  the  cellar 
place  beneath  the  site  of  the  burnt-out  cottage  in 
Dulwich  Village  —  I  have  wondered  more  than 
ever." 

He  lighted  his  pipe  and  walked  to  the  hearth  to 
throw  the  match  in  the  grate. 

'  You  see,"  he  continued,  peering  across  at  me  in 
his  oddly  nervous  way,  "  one  never  knows,  does  one  ? 
If  I  thought  that  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  lived;  if  I  seriously 
suspected  that  that  stupendous  intellect,  that  wonder- 
ful genius,  Petrie,  er  — "  he  hesitated  characteristi- 
cally— "  survived,  I  should  feel  it  my  duty — " 

"Well?  "  I  said,  leaning  my  elbows  on  the  table 
and  smiling  slightly. 

"  If  that  Satanic  genius  were  not  indeed  destroyed, 
then  the  peace  of  the  world  may  be  threatened  anew 
at  any  moment!  " 

He  was  becoming  excited,  shooting  out  his  jaw  in 
the  truculent  manner  I  knew,  and  snapping  his  fingers 
to  emphasize  his  words ;  a  man  composed  of  the  odd- 
est complexities  that  ever  dwelt  beneath  a  clerical 
frock. 

"  He  may  have  got  back  to  China,  Doctor! "  he 
cried,  and  his  eyes  had  the  fighting  glint  in  them. 
•"  Could  you  rest  in  peace  if  you  thought  that  he 


A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS  3 

lived?  hf.ould  you  not  fear  for  your  life  every  time 
that  a  night-call  took  you  out  alone?  Why,  man 
alive,  ^t  is  only  two  years  since  he  was  here  among  us, 
since  we  were  searching  every  shadow  for  those  awful 
green  eyes !  What  became  of  his  band  of  assassins 
—  his  stranglers,  his  dacoits,  his  damnable  poisons 
and  insects  and  what-not  —  the  army  of  crea- 
tures— " 

He  paused,  taking  a  drink. 

"  You — "  he  hesitated  diffidently — "  searched  in 
Egypt  with  Nayland  Smith,  did  you  not?  " 

I  nodded. 

"Contradict  me  if  I  am  wrong,"  he  continued; 
"  but  my  impression  is  that  you  were  searching  for 
the  girl  => —  the  girl  —  Karamaneh,  I  think  she  was 
called?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied  shortly;  "but  we  could  find  no 
trace  —  no  trace." 

"  You  —  er  —  were  interested  ?  " 

"  More  than  I  knew,"  I  replied,  "  until  I  realized 
that  I  had  —  lost  her." 

"  I  never  met  Karamaneh,  but  from  your  account, 
and  from  others,  she  was  quite  unusually — " 

"  She  was  very  beautiful,"  I  said,  and  stood  up,  for 
I  was  anxious  to  terminate  that  phase  of  the  conversa- 
tion. 

Eltham  regarded  me  sympathetically;  he  knew 
something  of  my  search  with  Nayland  Smith  for  the 
dark-eyed,  Eastern  girl  who  had  brought  romance 
into  my  drab  life ;  he  knew  that  I  treasured  my  mem- 


4    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

cries  of  her  as  I  loathed  and  abhorred  those  of  the 
fiendish,  brilliant  Chinese  doctor  who  had  been  her 
master. 

Eltham  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  rug,  his 
pipe  bubbling  furiously;  and  something  in  the  way 
he  carried  his  head  reminded  me  momentarily  of 
Nayland  Smith.  Certainly,  between  this  pink-faced 
clergyman,  with  his  deceptively  mild  appearance,  and 
the  gaunt,  bronzed,  and  steely-eyed  Burmese  com- 
missioner, there  was  externally  little  in  common ;  but 
it  was  some  little  nervous  trick  in  his  carriage  that 
conjured  up  through  the  smoky  haze  one  distant  sum- 
mer evening  when  Smith  had  paced  that  very  room  as 
Eltham  paced  it  now,  when  before  my  startled  eyes 
he  had  rung  up  the  curtain  upon  the  savage  drama  in 
which,  though  I  little  suspected  it  then,  Fate  had  cast 
me  for  a  leading  role. 

I  wondered  if  Eltham' s  thoughts  ran  parallel  with 
mine.  My  own  were  centered  upon  the  unfor- 
gettable figure  of  the  murderous  Chinaman.  These 
words,  exactly  as  Smith  had  used  them,  seemed  once 
again  to  sound  in  my  ears :  "  Imagine  a  person  tall, 
lean,  and  feline,  high  shouldered,  with  a  brow  like 
Shakespeare  and  a  face  like  Satan,  a  close-shaven 
skull,  and  long  magnetic  eyes  of  the  true  cat  green. 
Invest  him  with  all  the  cruel  cunning  of  an  entire 
Eastern  race  accumulated  in  one  giant  intellect,  with 
all  the  resources  of  science,  past  and  present,  and  you 
have  a  mental  picture  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  the  *  Yel- 
low Peril '  incarnate  in  one  man." 


A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS  5 

This  visit  of  Eltham's  no  doubt  was  responsible 
for  my  mood ;  for  this  singular  clergyman  had  played 
his  part  in  the  drama  of  two  years  ago. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Smith  again,"  he  said  sud- 
denly; "  it  seems  a  pity  that  a  man  like  that  should  be 
buried  in  Burma.  Burma  makes  a  mess  of  the  best 
of  men,  Doctor.  You  said  he  was  not  married?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied  shortly,  "  and  is  never  likely  to 
be,  now." 

"  Ah,  you  hinted  at  something  of  the  kind." 

"  I  know  very  little  of  it.  Nayland  Smith  is  not 
the  kind  of  man  to  talk  much." 

"  Quite  so  —  quite  so !  And,  you  know,  Doctor, 
neither  am  I ;  but  " —  he  was  growing  painfully  em- 
barrassed — "  it  may  be  your  due  —  I  —  er  —  I 
have  a  correspondent,  in  the  interior  of  China  — " 

"Well?"  I  said,  watching  him  in  sudden  eager- 
ness. 

"  Well,  I  would  not  desire  to  raise  —  vain  hopes 
• —  nor  to  occasion,  shall  I  say,  empty  fears ;  but  —  er 
...  no,  Doctor !  "  He  flushed  like  a  girl  — "  It 
was  wrong  of  me  to  open  this  conversation.  Per- 
haps, when  I  know  more  —  will  you  forget  my  words, 
for  the  time  ?  " 

The  telephone  bell  rang. 

"  Hullo !  "  cried  Eltham  — "  hard  luck,  Doctor !  " 
—  but  I  could  see  that  he  welcomed  the  interruption. 
"  Why!  "  he  added,  "  it  is  one  o'clock!  " 

I  went  to  the  telephone. 

"  Is  that  Dr.  Petrie?"  inquired  a  woman's  voice. 


6     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

tr  a;  who  is  speaking?  " 

1  .vlrs.  Hewett  has  been  taken  more  seriously  ill. 
Could  you  come  at  once  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  I  replied,  for  Mrs.  Hewett  was  not 
only  a  profitable  patient  but  an  estimable  lady  — "  I 
shall  be  with  you  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

I  hung  up  the  receiver. 

"  Something  urgent?  "  asked  Eltham,  emptying  his 
pipe. 

"  Sounds  like  it.     You  had  better  turn  in." 

"  I  should  much  prefer  to  walk  over  with  you,  if  it 
would  not  be  intruding.  Our  conversation  has  ill 
prepared  me  for  sleep." 

"Right!"  I  said;  for  I  welcomed  his  company; 
and  three  minutes  later  we  were  striding  across  the 
deserted  common. 

A  sort  of  mist  floated  amongst  the  trees,  seeming 
in  the  moonlight  like  a  veil  draped  from  trunk  to 
trunk,  as  in  silence  we  passed  the  Mound  pond,  and 
struck  out  for  the  north  side  of  the  common. 

I  suppose  the  presence  of  Eltham  and  the  irritating 
recollection  of  his  half-confidence  were  the  responsi- 
ble factors,  but  my  mind  persistently  dwelt  upon  the 
subject  of  Fu-Manchu  and  the  atrocities  which  he 
had  committed  during  his  sojourn  in  England.  So 
actively  was  my  imagination  at  work  that  I  felt  again 
the  menace  which  so  long  had  hung  over  me ;  I  felt  as 
though  that  murderous  yellow  cloud  still  cast  its 
shadow  upon  England.  And  I  found  myself  long- 
ing for  the  company  of  Nayland  Smith.  I  cannot 


A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS  7 

state  what  was  the  nature  of  Eltham's  reflections,  but 
I  can  guess ;  for  he  was  as  silent  as  I.  f  ,. 

It  was  with  a  conscious  effort  that  I  shook  myself 
out  of  this  morbidly  reflective  mood,  on  finding  that 
we  had  crossed  the  common  and  were  come  to  the 
abode  of  my  patient. 

"I  shall  take  a  little  walk,"  announced  Eltham; 
"  for  I  gather  that  you  don't  expect  to  be  detained 
long?  I  shall  never  be  out  of  sight  of  the  door, 
of  course." 

"  Very  well,"  I  replied,  and  ran  up  the  steps. 

There  were  no  lights  to  be  seen  in  any  of  the  win- 
dows, which  circumstance  rather  surprised  me,  as  my 
patient  occupied,  or  had  occupied  when  last  I  had  vis- 
ited her,  a  first-floor  bedroom  in  the  front  of  the 
house.  My  knocking  and  ringing  produced  no  re- 
sponse for  three  or  four  minutes ;  then,  as  I  persisted, 
a  scantily  clothed  and  half  awake  maid  servant  un- 
barred the  door  and  stared  at  me  stupidly  in  the 
moonlight. 

"  Mrs.  Hewett  requires  me  ?  "  I  asked  abruptly. 

The  girl  stared  more  stupidly  than  ever. 

"No,  sir,"  she  said,  "she  don't,  sir;  she's  fast 
asleep  1  " 

"  But  some  one  'phoned  me !  "  I  insisted,  rather 
irritably,  I  fear. 

"  Not  from  here,  sir,"  declared  the  now  wide- 
eyed  girl.  "  We  haven't  got  a  telephone,  sir." 

For  a  few  moments  I  stood  there,  staring  as  fool- 
ishly as  she;  then  abruptly  I  turned  and  descended 


8     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

the  steps.  At  the  gate  I  stood  looking  up  and  down 
the  road.  The  houses  were  all  in  darkness.  What 
could  be  the  meaning  of  the  mysterious  summons?  I 
had  made  no  mistake  respecting  the  name  of  my 
patient;  it  had  been  twice  repeated  over  the  tele- 
phone ;  yet  that  the  call  had  not  emanated  from  Mrs. 
Hewett's  house  was  now  palpably  evident.  Days 
had  been  when  I  should  have  regarded  the  episode  as 
preluding  some  outrage,  but  to-night  I  felt  more  dis- 
posed to  ascribe  it  to  a  silly  practical  joke. 

Eltham  walked  up  briskly. 

"  You're  in  demand  to-night,  Doctor,"  he  said. 
"  A  young  person  called  for  you  almost  directly  you 
had  left  your  house,  and,  learning  where  you  were 
gone,  followed  you." 

"  Indeed !  "  I  said,  a  trifle  incredulously.  "  There 
are  plenty  of  other  doctors  if  the  case  is  an  urgent 


one." 


"  She  may  have  thought  it  would  save  time  as  you 
were  actually  up  and  dressed,"  explained  Eltham; 
"  and  the  house  is  quite  near  to  here,  I  understand." 

I  looked  at  him  a  little  blankly.  Was  this  another 
effort  of  the  unknown  jester? 

"  I  have  been  fooled  once,"  I  said.  "  That  'phone 
call  was  a  hoax — " 

"  But  I  feel  certain,"  declared  Eltham,  earnestly, 
"  that  this  is  genuine  !  The  poor  girl  was  dreadfully 
agitated;  her  master  has  broken  his  leg  and  is  lying 
helpless:  number  280,  Rectory  Grove." 

"  Where  is  the  girl?  "  I  asked,  sharply. 


A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS  9 

"  She  ran  back  directly  she  had  given  me  her  mes- 
sage." 

"  Was  she  a  servant?  " 

"  I  should  imagine  so :  French,  I  think.  But  she 
was  so  wrapped  up  I  had  little  more  than  a  glimpse  of 
her.  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  some  one  has  played  a 
silly  joke  on  you,  but  believe  me  — "  he  was  very 
earnest — "this  is  no  jest.  The  poor  girl  could 
scarcely  speak  for  sobs.  She  mistook  me  for  you, 
of  course." 

"  Oh !  "  said  I  grimly;  "  well,  I  suppose  I  must  go. 
Broken  leg,  you  said?  —  and  my  surgical  bag,  splints 
and  so  forth,  are  at  home !  " 

"  My  dear  Petrie  !  "  cried  Eltham,  in  his  enthusias- 
tic way — "  you  no  doubt  can  do  something  to  allevi- 
ate the  poor  man's  suffering  immediately.  I  will  run 
back  to  your  rooms  for  the  bag  and  rejoin  you  at  280, 
Rectory  Grove." 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you,  Eltham  — " 

He  held  up  his  hand. 

"  The  call  of  suffering  humanity,  Petrie,  is  one 
which  I  may  no  more  refuse  to  hear  than  you." 

I  made  no  further  protest  after  that,  for  his  point 
of  view  was  evident  and  his  determination  adamant, 
but  told  him  where  he  would  find  the  bag  and  once 
more  set  out  across  the  moonbright  common,  he  pur- 
suing a  westerly  direction  and  I  going  east. 

Some  three  hundred  yards  I  had  gone,  I  suppose, 
and  my  brain  had  been  very  active  the  while,  when 
something  occurred  tc  me  which  placed  a  new  com- 


io     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

plexion  upon  this  second  summons.  I  thought  of  the 
falsity  of  the  first,  of  the  improbability  of  even  the 
most  hardened  practical  joker  practising  his  wiles  at 
one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  thought  of  our  recent 
conversation ;  above  all  I  thought  of  the  girl  who  had 
delivered  the  message  to  Eltham,  the  girl  whom  he 
had  described  as  a  French  maid  —  whose  personal 
charm  had  so  completely  enlisted  his  sympathies. 
Now,  to  this  train  of  thought  came  a  new  one,  and, 
adding  it,  my  suspicion  became  almost  a  certainty. 

I  remembered  (as,  knowing  the  district,  I  should 
have  remembered  before)  that  there  was  no  number 
280  in  Rectory  Grove. 

Pulling  up  sharply  I  stood  looking  about  me.  Not 
a  living  soul  was  in  sight;  not  even  a  policeman. 
Where  the  lamps  marked  the  main  paths  across  the 
common  nothing  moved;  in  the  shadows  about  me 
nothing  stirred.  But  something  stirred  within  me  — 
a  warning  voice  which  for  long  had  lain  dormant. 

What  was  afoot? 

A  breeze  caressed  the  leaves  overhead,  breaking 
the  silence  with  mysterious  whisperings.  Some  por- 
tentous truth  was  seeking  for  admittance  to  my  brain. 
I  strove  to  reassure  myself,  but  the  sense  of  impend- 
ing evil  and  of  mystery  became  heavier.  At  last  I 
could  combat  my  strange  fears  no  longer.  I  turned 
and  began  to  run  toward  the  south  side  of  the  com- 
mon —  toward  my  rooms  —  and  after  Eltham. 

I  had  hoped  to  head  him  off,  but  came  upon  no 
sign  of  him.  An  all-night  tramcar  passed  at  the 


A  MIDNIGHT  SUMMONS  n 

moment  that  I  reached  the  high  road,  and  as  I  ran 
around  behind  it  I  saw  that  my  windows  were  lighted 
and  that  there  was  a  light  in  the  hall. 

My  key  was  yet  in  the  lock  when  my  housekeeper 
opened  the  door. 

"  There's  a  gentleman  just  come,  Doctor,"  she 
began  — 

I  thrust  past  her  and  raced  up  the  stairs  into  my 
study. 

Standing  by  the  writing-table  was  a  tall,  thin  man, 
his  gaunt  face  brown  as  a  coffee-berry  and  his  steely 
gray  eyes  fixed  upon  me.  My  heart  gave  a  great 
leap  —  and  seemed  to  stand  still. 

It  was  Nayland  Smith ! 

"  Smith,"  I  cried.  "  Smith,  old  man,  by  God, 
I'm  glad  to  see  you !  " 

He  wrung  my  hand  hard,  looking  at  me  with  his 
searching  eyes;  but  there  was  little  enough  of  glad- 
ness in  his  face.  He  was  altogether  grayer  than 
when  last  I  had  seen  him  —  grayer  and  sterner. 

"Where  is  Eltham?"  I  asked. 

Smith  started  back  as  though  I  had  struck  him. 

"  Eltham!  "  he  whispered—  "Eltham!  is  Eltham 
here?" 

"I  left  him  ten  minutes  ago  on  the  com- 
mon — " 

Smith  dashed  his  right  fist  into  the  palm  of  his  left 
hand  and  his  eyes  gleamed  almost  wildly. 

"  My  God,  Petrie !  "  he  said,  "  am  I  fated  always 
to  come  too  late  ?  " 


12     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

My  dreadful  fears  in  that  instant  were  confirmed. 
I  seemed  to  feel  my  legs  totter  beneath  me. 

"  Smith,  you  don't  mean  — " 

"  I  do,  Petrie !  "  His  voice  sounded  very  far 
away.  "  Fu-Manchu  is  here;  and  Eltham,  God  help 
him  .  .  .  is  his  first  victim  1 " 


CHAPTER  II 

ELTHAM  VANISHES 

SMITH  went  racing  down  the  stairs  like  a  man 
possessed.  Heavy  with  such  a  foreboding  of 
calamity  as  I  had  not  known  for  two  years,  I  followed 
him  —  along  the  hall  and  out  into  the  road.  The 
very  peace  and  beauty  of  the  night  in  some  way  in- 
creased my  mental  agitation.  The  sky  was  lighted 
almost  tropically  with  such  a  blaze  of  stars  as  I 
could  not  recall  to  have  seen  since,  my  futile  search 
concluded,  I  had  left  Egypt.  The  glory  of  the  moon- 
light yellowed  the  lamps  speckled  across  the  expanse 
of  the  common.  The  night  was  as  still  as  night  can 
ever  be  in  London.  The  dimming  pulse  of  a  cab  or 
car  alone  disturbed  the  stillness. 

With  a  quick  glance  to  right  and  left,  Smith  ran 
across  on  to  the  common,  and,  leaving  the  door  wide 
open  behind  me,  I  followed.  The  path  which  El- 
tham  had  pursued  terminated  almost  opposite  to  my 
house.  One's  gaze  might  follow  it,  white  and  empty, 
for  several  hundred  yards  past  the  pond,  and  further, 
until  it  became  overshadowed  and  was  lost  amid  a 
clump  of  trees. 

I  came  up  with  Smith,  and  side  by  side  we  ran  on, 
pantingly,  I  told  my  tale. 

"  It  was  a  trick  to  get  you  away  from  him !  "  cried 


i4     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

Smith.  "  They  meant  no  doubt  to  make  some  at- 
tempt at  your  house,  but  as  he  came  out  with  you,  an 
alternative  plan  — " 

Abreast  of  the  pond,  my  companion  slowed  down, 
and  finally  stopped. 

:'  Where  did  you  last  see  Eltham?  "  he  asked  rap- 
idly. 

I  took  his  arm,  turning  him  slightly  to  the  right, 
and  pointed  across  the  moonbathed  common. 

'  You  see  that  clump  of  bushes  on  the  other  side 
of  the  road?  "  I  said.  "  There's  a  path  to  the  left 
of  it.  I  took  that  path  and  he  took  this.  We 
parted  at  the  point  where  they  meet  — " 

Smith  walked  right  down  to  the  edge  of  the  water 
and  peered  about  over  the  surface. 

What  he  hoped  to  find  there  I  could  not  imagine. 
Whatever  it  had  been  he  was  disappointed,  and  he 
turned  to  me  again,  frowning  perplexedly,  and  tug- 
ging at  the  lobe  of  his  left  ear,  an  old  trick  which 
reminded  me  of  gruesome  things  we  had  lived 
through  in  the  past. 

"  Come  on,"  he  jerked.  "  It  may  be  amongst  the 
trees." 

From  the  tone  of  his  voice  I  knew  that  he  was 
tensed  up  nervously,  and  his  mood  but  added  to  the 
apprehension  of  my  own. 

"  What  may  be  amongst  the  trees,  Smith  ?  "  I 
asked. 

He  walked  on. 

"  God  knows,  Petrie ;  but  I  fear  — " 


ELTHAM  VANISHES  15 

Behind  us,  along  the  highroad,  a  tramcar  went 
rocking  by,  doubtless  bearing  a  few  belated  workers 
homeward.  The  stark  incongruity  of  the  thing  was 
appalling.  How  little  those  weary  toilers,  hemmed 
about  with  the  commonplace,  suspected  that  almost 
within  sight  from  the  car  windows,  in  a  place  of  prosy 
benches,  iron  railings,  and  unromantic,  flickering 
lamps,  two  fellow  men  moved  upon  the  border  of  a 
horror-land ! 

Beneath  the  trees  a  shadow  carpet  lay,  its  edges 
tropically  sharp;  and  fully  ten  yards  from  the  first 
of  the  group,  we  two,  hatless  both,  and  sharing  a 
common  dread,  paused  for  a  moment  and  listened. 

The  car  had  stopped  at  the  further  extremity  of 
the  common,  and  now  with  a  moan  that  grew  to  a 
shriek  was  rolling  on  its  way  again.  We  stood  and 
listened  until  silence  reclaimed  the  night.  Not  a 
footstep  could  be  heard.  Then  slowly  we  walked 
on.  At  the  edge  of  the  little  coppice  we  stopped 
again  abruptly. 

Smith  turned  and  thrust  his  pistol  into  my  hand. 
A  white  ray  of  light  pierced  the  shadows;  my  com- 
panion carried  an  electric  torch.  But  no  trace  of 
Eltham  was  discoverable. 

There  had  been  a  heavy  shower  of  rain  during  the 
evening  just  before  sunset,  and  although  the  open 
paths  were  dry  again,  under  the  trees  the  ground  was 
still  moist.  Ten  yards  within  the  coppice  we  came 
upon  tracks  —  the  tracks  of  one  running,  as  the  deep 
imprints  of  the  toes  indicated. 


1 6     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

Abruptly  the  tracks  terminated;  others,  softer, 
joined  them,  two  sets  converging  from  left  and  right. 
There  was  a  confused  patch,  trailing  off  to  the  west; 
then  this  became  indistinct,  and  was  finally  lost,  upon 
the  hard  ground  outside  the  group. 

For  perhaps  a  minute,  or  more,  we  ran  about  from 
tree  to  tree,  and  from  bush  to  bush,  searching  like 
hounds  for  a  scent,  and  fearful  of  what  we  might  find. 
We  found  nothing;  and  fully  in  the  moonlight  we 
stood  facing  one  another.  The  night  was  pro- 
foundly still. 

Nayland  Smith  stepped  back  into  the  shadows,  and 
began  slowly  to  turn  his  head  from  left  to  right,  tak- 
ing in  the  entire  visible  expanse  of  the  common.  To- 
ward a  point  where  the  road  bisected  it  he  stared 
intently.  Then,  with  a  bound,  he  set  off. 

"  Come  on,  Petrie !  "  he  cried.  "  There  they 
are!" 

Vaulting  a  railing  he  went  away  over  a  field  like 
a  madman.  Recovering  from  the  shock  of  surprise, 
I  followed  him,  but  he  was  well  ahead  of  me,  and 
making  for  some  vaguely  seen  object  moving  against 
the  lights  of  the  roadway. 

Another  railing  was  vaulted,  and  the  corner  of  a 
second,  triangular  grass  patch  crossed  at  a  hot  sprint. 
We  were  twenty  yards  from  the  road  when  the 
sound  of  a  starting  motor  broke  the  silence.  We 
gained  the  graveled  footpath  only  to  see  the  tail- 
light  of  the  car  dwindling  to  the  north ! 

Smith  leaned  dizzily  against  a  tree. 


ELTHAM  VANISHES  17 

"  Eltham  is  in  that  car !  "  he  gasped.  "  Just  God ! 
are  we  to  stand  here  and  see  him  taken  away 
to—" 

He  beat  his  fist  upon  the  tree,  in  a  sort  of  tragic 
despair.  The  nearest  cab-rank  was  no  great  distance 
away,  but,  excluding  the  possibility  of  no  cab  being 
there,  it  might,  for  all  practical  purposes,  as  well  have 
been  a  mile  off. 

The  beat  of  the  retreating  motor  was  scarcely  aud- 
ible; the  lights  might  but  just  be  distinguished. 
Then,  coming  in  an  opposite  direction,  appeared  the 
headlamp  of  another  car,  of  a  car  that  raced  nearer 
and  nearer  to  us,  so  that,  within  a  few  seconds  of  its 
first  appearance,  we  found  ourselves  bathed  in  the 
beam  of  its  headlights. 

Smith  bounded  out  into  the  road,  and  stood,  a 
weird  silhouette,  with  upraised  arms,  fully  in  its 
course ! 

The  brakes  were  applied  hurriedly.  It  was  a  big 
limousine,  and  its  driver  swerved  perilously  in  avoid- 
ing Smith  and  nearly  ran  into  me.  But,  the  breath- 
less moment  past,  the  car  was  pulled  up,  head  on  to 
the  railings;  and  a  man  in  evening  clothes  was  de- 
manding excitedly  what  had  happened.  Smith,  a  hat- 
less,  disheveled  figure,  stepped  up  to  the  door. 

"  My  name  is  Nayland  Smith,"  he  said  rapidly  — 
"  Burmese  Commissioner."  He  snatched  a  letter 
from  his  pocket  and  thrust  it  into  the  hands  of  the 
bewildered  man.  "  Read  that.  It  is  signed  by  an- 
other Commissioner  —  the  Commissioner  of  Police." 


1 8     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

With  amazement  written  all  over  him,  the  other 
obeyed. 

'  You  see,"  continued  my  friend,  tersely — "  it  is 
carte  blanche.  I  wish  to  commandeer  your  car,  sir, 
on  a  matter  of  life  and  death !  " 

The  other  returned  the  letter. 

"Allow  me  to  offer  it!"  he  said,  descending. 
"  My  man  will  take  your  orders.  I  can  finish  my 
journey  by  cab.  I  am  — " 

But  Smith  did  not  wait  to  learn  whom  he  might 
be. 

"  Quick !  "  he  cried  to  the  stupefied  chauffeur  — 
'  You  passed  a  car  a  minute  ago  —  yonder.  Can 
you  overtake  it?  " 

"  I  can  try,  sir,  if  I  don't  lose  her  track." 

Smith  leaped  in,  pulling  me  after  him. 

"  Do  it!  "  he  snapped.  "  There  are  no  speed  lim- 
its for  me.  Thanks!  Good  night,  sir!  " 

We  were  off!  The  car  swung  around  and  the 
chase  commenced. 

One  last  glimpse  I  had  of  the  man  we  had  dispos- 
sessed, standing  alone  by  the  roadside,  and  at  ever 
increasing  speed,  we  leaped  away  in  the  track  of 
Eltham's  captors. 

Smith  was  too  highly  excited  for  ordinary  conver- 
sation, but  he  threw  out  short,  staccato  remarks. 

"  I  have  followed  Fu-Manchu  from  Hongkong," 
he  jerked.  "  Lost  him  at  Suez.  He  got  here  a 
boat  ahead  of  me.  Eltham  has  been  correspond- 
ing with  some  mandarin  up-country.  Knew  that. 


ELTHAM  VANISHES  19 

Came  straight  to  you.  Only  got  in  this  evening. 
He  —  Fu-Manchu  —  has  been  sent  here  to  get  El- 
tham.  My  God !  and  he  has  him !  He  will  question 
him !  The  interior  of  China  —  a  seething  pot, 
Petrie !  They  had  to  stop  the  leakage  of  informa- 
tion. He  is  here  for  that." 

The  car  pulled  up  with  a  jerk  that  pitched  me  out 
of  my  seat,  and  the  chauffeur  leaped  to  the  road  and 
ran  ahead.  Smith  was  out  in  a  trice,  as  the  man, 
who  had  run  up  to  a  constable,  came  racing  back. 

'Jump  in,  sir  —  jump  in!"  he  cried,  his  eyes 
bright  with  the  lust  of  the  chase;  "  they  are  making 
for  Battersea !  " 

And  we  were  off  again. 

Through  the  empty  streets  we  roared  on.  A  place 
of  gasometers  and  desolate  waste  lots  slipped  behind 
and  we  were  in  a  narrow  way  where  gates  of  yards 
and  a  few  lowly  houses  faced  upon  a  prospect  of  high 
blank  wall. 

;'  Thames  on  our  right,"  said  Smith,  peering 
ahead.  "  His  rathole  is  by  the  river  as  usual. 
Hi!  " —  he  grabbed  up  the  speaking-tube  — "  Stop ! 
Stop!" 

The  limousine  swung  in  to  the  narrow  sidewalk, 
and  pulled  up  close  by  a  yard  gate.  I,  too,  had  seen 
our  quarry  —  a  long,  low  bodied  car,  showing  no 
inside  lights.  It  had  turned  the  next  corner,  where 
a  street  lamp  shone  greenly,  not  a  hundred  yards 
ahead. 

Smith  leaped  out,  and  I  followed  him. 


20     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

''  That  must  be  a  ail  de  sac,"  he  said,  and  turned 
to  the  eager-eyed  chauffeur.  "  Run  back  to  that 
last  turning,"  he  ordered,  "  and  wait  there,  out  of 
sight.  Bring  the  car  up  when  you  hear  a  police- 
whistle." 

The  man  looked  disappointed,  but  did  not  ques- 
tion the  order.  As  he  began  to  back  away,  Smith 
grasped  me  by  the  arm  and  drew  me  forward. 

"  We  must  get  to  that  corner,"  he  said,  "  and  see 
where  the  car  stands,  without  showing  ourselves." 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  WIRE  JACKET 

I  SUPPOSE  we  were  not  more  than  a  dozen  paces 
from  the  lamp  when  we  heard  the  thudding  of 
the  motor.  The  car  was  backing  out ! 

It  was  a  desperate  moment,  for  it  seemed  that  we 
could  not  fail  to  be  discovered.  Nayland  Smith  be- 
gan to  look  about  him,  feverishly,  for  a  hiding-place, 
a  quest  in  which  I  seconded  with  equal  anxiety.  And 
Fate  was  kind  to  us  —  doubly  kind  as  after  events 
revealed.  A  wooden  gate  broke  the  expanse  of  wall 
hard  by  upon  the  right,  and,  as  the  result  of  some 
recent  accident,  a  ragged  gap  had  been  torn  in  the 
panels  close  to  the  top. 

The  chain  of  the  padlock  hung  loosely;  and  in  a 
second  Smith  was  up,  with  his  foot  in  this  as  in  a 
stirrup.  He  threw  his  arm  over  the  top  and  drew 
himself  upright.  A  second  later  he  was  astride  the 
broken  gate. 

"  Up  you  come,  Petrie !  "  he  said,  and  reached 
down  his  hand  to  aid  me. 

I  got  my  foot  into  the  loop  of  chain,  grasped  at  a 
projection  in  the  gatepost  and  found  myself  up. 

"  There  is  a  crossbar  on  this  side  to  stand  on," 
said  Smith. 

He  climbed  over  and  vanished  in  the  darkness.     I 

21 


22     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

was  still  astride  the  broken  gate  when  the  car  turned 
the  corner,  slowly,  for  there  was  scanty  room;  but  I 
was  standing  upon  the  bar  on  the  inside  and  had  my 
head  below  the  gap  ere  the  driver  could  possibly  have 
seen  me. 

"  Stay  where  you  are  until  he  passes,"  hissed  my 
companion,  below.  "  There  is  a  row  of  kegs  under 
you." 

The  sound  of  the  motor  passing  outside  grew 
loud  —  louder  —  then  began  to  die  away.  I  felt 
about  with  my  left  foot;  discerned  the  top  of  a  keg, 
and  dropped,  panting,  beside  Smith. 

"Phew!"  I  said — "  that  was  a  close  thing! 
Smith  —  how  do  we  know  — " 

"That  we  have  followed  the  right  car?"  he  in- 
terrupted. "  Ask  yourself  the  question :  what  would 
any  ordinary  man  be  doing  motoring  in  a  place  like 
this  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning?  " 

"  You  are  right,  Smith,"  I  agreed.  "  Shall  we 
get  out  again?  " 

"  Not  yet.     I  have  an  idea.     Look  yonder." 

He  grasped  my  arm,  turning  me  in  the  desired  di- 
rection. 

Beyond  a  great  expanse  of  unbroken  darkness  a 
ray  of  moonlight  slanted  into  the  place  wherein  we 
stood,  spilling  its  cold  radiance  upon  rows  of  kegs. 

"  That's  another  door,"  continued  my  friend  —  I 
now  began  dimly  to  perceive  him  beside  me.  "  If  my 
calculations  are  not  entirely  wrong,  it  opens  on  a 
wharf  gate  — " 


THE  WIRE  JACKET  23 

A  steam  siren  hooted  dismally,  apparently  from 
quite  close  at  hand. 

"  I'm  right !  "  snapped  Smith.  "  That  turning 
leads  down  to  the  gate.  Come  on,  Petrie !  " 

He  directed  the  light  of  the  electric  torch  upon  a 
narrow  path  through  the  ranks  of  casks,  and  led  the 
way  to  the  further  door.  A  good  two  feet  of  moon- 
light showed  along  the  top.  I  heard  Smith  straining ; 
then  — 

11  These  kegs  are  all  loaded  with  grease !  "  he  said 
— "  and  I  want  to  reconnoiter  over  that  door." 

"  I  am  leaning  on  a  crate  which  seems  easy  to 
move,"  I  reported.  "  Yes,  it's  empty.  Lend  a 
hand." 

We  grasped  the  empty  crate,  and  between  us,  set 
it  up  on  a  solid  pedestal  of  casks.  Then  Smith 
mounted  to  this  observation  platform  and  I  scram- 
bled up  beside  him,  and  looked  down  upon  the  lane 
outside. 

It  terminated  as  Smith  had  foreseen  at  a  wharf 
gate  some  six  feet  to  the  right  of  our  post.  Piled  up 
in  the  lane  beneath  us,  against  the  warehouse  door, 
was  a  stack  of  empty  casks.  Beyond,  over  the  way, 
was  a  kind  of  ramshackle  building  that  had  possibly 
been  a  dwelling-house  at  some  time.  Bills  were 
stuck  in  the  ground-floor  window  indicating  that  the 
three  floors  were  to  let  as  offices;  so  much  was  dis- 
cernible in  that  reflected  moonlight. 

I  could  hear  the  tide  lapping  upon  the  wharf, 
could  feel  the  chill  from  the  river  and  hear  the  vague 


24     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

noises  which,  night  nor  day,  never  cease  upon  the 
great  commercial  waterway. 

"  Down!  "  whispered  Smith.  "  Make  no  noise! 
I  suspected  it.  They  heard  the  car  following!  " 

I  obeyed,  clutching  at  him  for  support;  for  I  was 
suddenly  dizzy,  and  my  heart  was  leaping  wildly  — 
furiously. 

'  You  saw  her?  "  he  whispered. 

Saw  her!  yes,  I  had  seen  her!  And  my  poor 
dream-world  was  toppling  about  me,  its  cities,  ashes 
and  its  fairness,  dust. 

Peering  from  the  window,  her  great  eyes  wondrous 
in  the  moonlight  and  her  red  lips  parted,  hair  gleam- 
ing like  burnished  foam  and  her  anxious  gaze  set 
upon  the  corner  of  the  lane  —  was  Karamaneh  .  .  . 
Kararrianeh  whom  once  we  had  rescued  from  the 
house  of  this  fiendish  Chinese  doctor;  Karamaneh 
who  had  been  our  ally ;  in  fruitless  quest  of  whom, — 
when,  too  late,  I  realized  how  empty  my  life  was  be- 
come —  I  had  wasted  what  little  of  the  world's 
goods  I  possessed;  —  Karamaneh! 

"  Poor  old  Petrie,"  murmured  Smith  — "  I  knew, 
but  I  hadn't  the  heart  —  He  has  her  again  —  God 
knows  by  what  chains  he  holds  her.  But  she's  only 
a  woman,  old  boy,  and  women  are  very  much  alike 
—  very  much  alike  from  Charing  Cross  to  Pagoda 
Road." 

He  rested  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  for  a  moment; 
I  am  ashamed  to  confess  that  I  was  trembling;  then, 


THE  WIRE  JACKET  25 

clenching  my  teeth  with  that  mechanical  physical  el- 
fort  which  often  accompanies  a  mental  one,  I  swal- 
lowed the  bitter  draught  of  Nayland  Smith's  philoso- 
phy. He  was  raising  himself,  to  peer,  cautiously, 
over  the  top  of  the  door.  I  did  likewise. 

The  window  from  which  the  girl  had  looked  was 
nearly  on  a  level  with  our  eyes,  and  as  I  raised  my 
head  above  the  woodwork,  I  quite  distinctly  saw  her 
go  out  of  the  room.  The  door,  as  she  opened  it, 
admitted  a  dull  light,  against  which  her  figure  showed 
silhouetted  for  a  moment.  Then  the  door  was  re- 
closed. 

"  We  must  risk  the  other  windows,"  rapped  Smith. 

Before  I  had  grasped  the  nature  of  his  plan  he  was 
over  and  had  dropped  almost  noiselessly  upon  the 
casks  outside.  Again  I  followed  his  lead. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  attempt  anything,  single- 
handed  —  against  him?  "  I  asked. 

"  Petrie  —  Eltham  is  in  that  house.  He  has  been 
brought  here  to  be  put  to  the  question,  in  the  medie- 
val, and  Chinese,  sense !  Is  there  time  to  summon 
assistance?  " 

I  shuddered.  This  had  been  in  my  mind,  cer- 
tainly, but  so  expressed  it  was  definitely  horrible  — 
revolting,  yet  stimulating. 

"  You  have  the  pistol,"  added  Smith  — "  follow 
closely,  and  quietly." 

He  walked  across  the  tops  of  the  casks  and  leaped 
down,  pointing  to  that  nearest  to  the  closed  door  of 


26     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

the  house.  I  helped  him  place  it  under  the  open  win- 
dow. A  second  we  set  beside  it,  and,  not  without 
some  noise,  got  a  third  on  top. 

Smith  mounted. 

His  jaw  muscles  were  very  prominent  and  his  eyes 
shone  like  steel;  but  he  was  as  cool  as  though  he  were 
about  to  enter  a  theater  and  not  the  den  of  the  most 
stupendous  genius  who  ever  worked  for  evil.  I 
would  forgive  any  man  who,  knowing  Dr.  Fu- 
Manchu,  feared  him ;  I  feared  him  myself  —  feared 
him  as  one  fears  a  scorpion;  but  when  Nayland  Smith 
hauled  himself  up  on  the  wooden  ledge  above  the 
door  and  swung  thence  into  the  darkened  room,  I 
followed  and  was  in  close  upon  his  heels.  But  I 
admired  him,  for  he  had  every  ampere  of  his  self- 
possession  in  hand;  my  own  case  was  different. 

He  spoke  close  to  my  ear. 

"  Is  your  hand  steady?     We  may  have  to  shoot." 

I  thought  of  Karamaneh,  of  lovely  dark-eyed  Kar- 
amaneh,  whom  this  wonderful,  evil  product  of  secret 
China  had  stolen  from  me  —  for  so  I  now  adjudged 
it. 

"  Rely  upon  me !  "  I  said  grimly.     "  I  .  .  ." 

The  words  ceased  —  frozen  on  my  tongue. 

There  are  things  that  one  seeks  to  forget,  but  it  is 
my  lot  often  to  remember  the  sound  which  at  that  mo- 
ment literally  struck  me  rigid  with  horror.  Yet  it 
was  only  a  groan;  but,  merciful  God!  I  pray  that  it 
may  never  be  my  lot  to  listen  to  such  a  groan  again. 

Smith  drew  a  sibilant  breath. 


THE  WIRE  JACKET  27 

"  It's  Eltham !  "  he  whispered  hoarsely  — "  they're 
torturing  — " 

"  No,  no !  "  screamed  a  woman's  voice  —  a  voice 
that  thrilled  me  anew,  but  with  another  emotion  — 
"Not  that,  not— " 

I  distinctly  heard  the  sound  of  a  blow.  Followed 
a  sort  of  vague  scuffling.  A  door  somewhere  at  the 
back  of  the  house  opened  —  and  shut  again.  Some 
one  was  coming  along  the  passage  toward  us! 

"  Stand  back!  "  Smith's  voice  was  low,  but  per- 
fectly steady.  "  Leave  it  to  me !  " 

Nearer  came  the  footsteps  and  nearer.  I  could 
hear  suppressed  sobs.  The  door  opened,  admitting 
again  the  faint  light  —  and  Karamaneh  came  in. 
The  place  was  quite  unfurnished,  offering  no  possi- 
bility of  hiding;  but  to  hide  was  unnecessary. 

Her  slim  figure  had  not  crossed  the  threshold  ere 
Smith  had  his  arm  about  the  girl's  waist  and  one 
hand  clapped  to  her  mouth.  A  stifled  gasp  she 
uttered,  and  he  lifted  her  into  the  room. 

I  stepped  forward  and  closed  the  door.  A  faint 
perfume  stole  to  my  nostrils  —  a  vague,  elusive 
breath  of  the  East,  reminiscent  of  strange  days  that, 
now,  seemed  to  belong  to  a  remote  past.  Kara- 
maneh! that  faint,  indefinable  perfume  was  part  of 
her  dainty  personality;  it  may  appear  absurd  —  im- 
possible —  but  many  and  many  a  time  I  had  dreamt 
of  it. 

"  In  my  breast  pocket,"  rapped  Smith;  "  the  light." 

I  bent  over  the  girl  as  he  held  her.     She  was  quite 


28     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

still,  but  I  could  have  wished  that  I  had  had  more 
certain  mastery  of  myself.  I  took  the  torch  from 
Smith's  pocket,  and,  mechanically,  directed  it  upon 
the  captive. 

She  was  dressed  very  plainly,  wearing  a  simple  blue 
skirt,  and  white  blouse.  It  was  easy  to  divine  that  it 
was  she  whom  Eltham  had  mistaken  for  a  French 
maid.  A  brooch  set  with  a  ruby  was  pinned  at  the 
point  where  the  blouse  opened  —  gleaming  fierily 
and  harshly  against  the  soft  skin.  Her  face  was 
pale  and  her  eyes  wide  with  fear. 

"  There  is  some  cord  in  my  right-hand  pocket," 
said  Smith;  "  I  came  provided.  Tie  her  wrists." 

I  obeyed  him,  silently.  The  girl  offered  no  resist- 
ance, but  I  think  I  never  essayed  a  less  congenial  task 
than  that  of  binding  her  white  wrists.  The  jeweled 
fingers  lay  quite  listlessly  in  my  own. 

"  Make  a  good  job  of  it!  "  rapped  Smith,  signifi- 
cantly. 

A  flush  rose  to  my  cheeks,  for  I  knew  well  enough 
what  he  meant. 

"  She  is  fastened,"  I  said,  and  I  turned  the  ray  of 
the  torch  upon  her  again. 

Smith  removed  his  hand  from  her  mouth  but  did 
not  relax  his  grip  of  her.  She  looked  up  at  me  with 
eyes  in  which  I  could  have  sworn  there  was  no  recog- 
nition. But  a  flush  momentarily  swept  over  her  face, 
and  left  it  pale  again. 

"  We  shall  have  to  —  gag  her  — " 

"Smith,  I  can't  do  it!" 


THE  WIRE  JACKET  29 

The  girl's  eyes  filled  with  tears  and  she  looked  up 
at  my  companion  pitifully. 

"  Please  don't  be  cruel  to  me,"  she  whispered, 
with  that  soft  accent  which  always  played  havoc  with 
my  composure.  "  Every  one  —  every  one  —  is  cruel 
to  me.  I  will  promise  —  indeed  I  will  swear,  to  be 
quiet.  Oh,  believe  me,  if  you  can  save  him  I  will 
do  nothing  to  hinder  you."  Her  beautiful  head 
drooped.  "  Have  some  pity  for  me  as  well." 

"  Karamaneh,"  I  said.  "  We  would  have  be- 
lieved you  once.  We  cannot,  now." 

She  started  violently. 

1  You  know  my  name !  "  Her  voice  was  barely 
audible.  '  Yet  I  have  never  seen  you  in  my  life  — " 

"  See  if  the  door  locks,"  interrupted  Smith  harshly. 

Dazed  by  the  apparent  sincerity  in  the  voice  of  our 
lovely  captive  —  vacant  from  wonder  of  it  all  —  I 
opened  the  door,  felt  for,  and  found,  a  key. 

We  left  Karamaneh  crouching  against  the  wall; 
her  great  eyes  were  turned  towards  me  fascinatedly. 
Smith  locked  the  door  with  much  care.  We  began 
a  tip-toed  progress  along  the  dimly  lighted  pas- 
sage. 

From  beneath  a  door  on  the  left,  and  near  the  end, 
a  brighter  light  shone.  Beyond  that  again  was  an- 
other door.  A  voice  was  speaking  in  the  lighted 
room;  yet  I  could  have  sworn  that  Karamaneh  had 
come,  not  from  there  but  from  the  room  beyond  — 
from  the  far  end  of  the  passage. 

But  the  voice !  —  who,  having  once  heard  it,  could 


.30     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

ever  mistake  that  singular  voice,  alternately  guttural 
and  sibilant! 

Dr.  Fu-Manchu  was  speaking! 

"  I  have  asked  you,"  came  with  ever-increasing 
clearness  (Smith  had  begun  to  turn  the  knob),  "  to 
reveal  to  me  the  name  of  your  correspondent  in  Nan- 
Yang.  I  have  suggested  that  he  may  be  the  Man- 
darin Yen-Sun-Yat,  but  you  have  declined  to  confirm 
me.  Yet  I  know  "  (Smith  had  the  door  open  a  good 
three  inches  and  was  peering  in)  "  that  some  official, 
some  high  official,  is  a  traitor.  Am  I  to  resort  again 
to  the  question  to  learn  his  name?  " 

Ice  seemed  to  enter  my  veins  at  the  unseen  inquisi- 
tor's intonation  of  the  words  "  the  question."  This 
was  the  Twentieth  Century,  yet  there,  in  that  dam- 
nable room  .  .  . 

Smith  threw  the  door  open. 

Through  a  sort  of  haze,  born  mostly  of  horror, 
but  not  entirely,  I  saw  Eltham,  stripped  to  the  waist 
and  tied,  with  his  arms  upstretched,  to  a  rafter  in  the 
ancient  ceiling.  A  Chinaman  who  wore  a  slop-shop 
blue  suit  and  who  held  an  open  knife  in  his  hand, 
stood  beside  him.  Eltham  was  ghastly  white.  The 
appearance  of  his  chest  puzzled  me  momentarily, 
then  I  realized  that  a  sort  of  tourniquet  of  wire-net- 
ting was  screwed  so  tightly  about  him  that  the  flesh 
swelled  out  in  knobs  through  the  mesh.  There  was 
blood  — 

"  God  in  heaven !  "  screamed  Smith  frenziedly  — 
"  they  have  the  wire-jacket  on  him!  Shoot  down 


THE  WIRE  JACKET  31 

that  damned  Chinaman,  Petrie!     Shoot!     Shoot!" 

Lithely  as  a  cat  the  man  with  the  knife  leaped 
around  —  but  I  raised  the  Browning,  and  deliber- 
ately—  with  a  cool  deliberation  that  came  to  me 
suddenly  —  shot  him  through  the  head.  I  saw  his 
oblique  eyes  turn  up  to  the  whites;  I  saw  the  mark 
squarely  between  his  brows;  and  with  no  word  nor 
cry  he  sank  to  his  knees  and  toppled  forward  with 
one  yellow  hand  beneath  him  and  one  outstretched, 
clutching  —  clutching  —  convulsively.  His  pigtail 
came  unfastened  and  began  to  uncoil,  slowly,  like  a 
snake. 

I  handed  the  pistol  to  Smith;  I  was  perfectly  cool, 
now;  and  I  leaped  forward,  took  up  the  bloody  knife 
from  the  floor  and  cut  Eltham's  lashings.  He  sank 
into  my  arms. 

"  Praise  God,"  he  murmured,  weakly.  "  He  is 
more  merciful  to  me  than  perhaps  I  deserve.  Un- 
screw .  .  .  the  jacket,  Petrie  ...  I  think  ...  I 
was  very  near  to  ...  weakening.  Praise  the  good 
God,  Who  .  .  .  gave  me  ...  fortitude  .  .  ." 

I  got  the  screw  of  the  accursed  thing  loosened,  but 
the  act  of  removing  the  jacket  was  too  agonizing  for 
Eltham  —  man  of  iron  though  he  was.  I  laid  him 
swooning  on  the  floor. 

"Where  is  Fu-Manchu ? " 

Nayland  Smith,  from  just  within  the  door,  threw 
out  the  query  in  a  tone  of  stark  amaze.  I  stood  up 
—  I  could  do  nothing  more  for  the  poor  victim  at  the 
moment  —  and  looked  about  me. 


32     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

The  room  was  innocent  of  furniture,  save  for 
heaps  of  rubbish  on  the  floor,  and  a  tin  oil-lamp  hung 
on  the  wall.  The  dead  Chinaman  lay  close  beside 
Smith.  There  was  no  second  door,  the  one  window 
was  barred,  and  from  this  room  we  had  heard  the 
voice,  the  unmistakable,  unforgettable  voice,  of  Dr. 
Fu-Manchu. 

•But  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  was  not  there! 

Neither  of  us  could  accept  the  fact  for  a  moment; 
we  stood  there,  looking  from  the  dead  man  to  the 
tortured  man  who  only  swooned,  in  a  state  of  helpless 
incredulity. 

Then  the  explanation  flashed  upon  us  both,  simul- 
taneously, and  with  a  cry  of  baffled  rage  Smith  leaped 
along  the  passage  to  the  second  door.  It  was  wide 
open.  I  stood  at  his  elbow  when  he  swept  its  empti- 
ness with  the  ray  of  his  pocket-lamp. 

There  was  a  speaking-tube  fixed  between  the  two 
rooms ! 

Smith  literally  ground  his  teeth. 

"  Yet,  Petrie,"  he  said,  "  we  have  learnt  some- 
thing. Fu-Manchu  had  evidently  promised  Eltham 
his  life  if  he  would  divulge  the  name  of  his  corre- 
spondent. He  meant  to  keep  his  word;  it  is  a  side- 
light on  his  character." 

"How  so?" 

"  Eltham  has  never  seen  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  but  El- 
tham knows  certain  parts  of  China  better  than  you 
know  the  Strand.  Probably,  if  he  saw  Fu-Manchu, 


THE  WIRE  JACKET  33 

he  would  recognize  him  for  whom  he  really  is,  and 
this,  it  seems,  the  Doctor  is  anxious  to  avoid." 

We  ran  back  to  where  we  had  left  Karamaneh. 

The  room  was  empty ! 

"  Defeated,  Petrie  1  "  said  Smith,  bitterly.  "  The 
Yellow  Devil  is  loosed  on  London  again !  " 

He  leaned  from  the  window  and  the  skirl  of  a 
police  whistle  split  the  stillness  of  the  night. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  CRY  OF  A  NIGHTHAWK 

SUCH  were  the  episodes  that  marked  the  coming 
of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  to  London,  that  awakened 
fears  long  dormant  and  reopened  old  wounds  —  nay, 
poured  poison  into  them.  I  strove  desperately,  by 
close  attention  to  my  professional  duties,  to  banish  the 
very  memory  of  Karamaneh  from  my  mind ;  desper- 
ately, but  how  vainly !  Peace  was  for  me  no  more, 
joy  was  gone  from  the  world,  and  only  mockery  re- 
mained as  my  portion. 

Poor  Eltham  we  had  placed  in  a  nursing  establish- 
ment, where  his  indescribable  hurts  could  be  properly 
tended:  and  his  uncomplaining  fortitude  not  infre- 
quently made  me  thoroughly  ashamed  of  myself. 
Needless  to  say,  Smith  had  made  such  other  arrange- 
ments as  were  necessary  to  safeguard  the  injured  man, 
and  these  proved  so  successful  that  the  malignant 
being  whose  plans  they  thwarted  abandoned  his  de- 
signs upon  the  heroic  clergyman  and  directed  his 
attention  elsewhere,  as  I  must  now  proceed  to  relate. 

Dusk  always  brought  with  it  a  cloud  of  apprehen- 
sions, for  darkness  must  ever  be  the  ally  of  crime ;  and 
it  was  one  night,  long  after  the  clocks  had  struck  the 

34 


THE  CRY  OF  A  NIGHTHAWK        35 

mystic  hour  "  when  churchyards  yawn,"  that  the 
hand  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  again  stretched  out  to  grasp 
a  victim.  I  was  dismissing  a  chance  patient. 

"  Good  night,  Dr.  Petrie,"  he  said. 

"  Good  night,  Mr.  Forsyth,"  I  replied;  and,  hav- 
ing conducted  my  late  visitor  to  the  door,  I  closed  and 
bolted  it,  switched  off  the  light  and  went  upstairs. 

My  patient  was  chief  officer  of  one  of  the  P.  and 
O.  boats.  He  had  cut  his  hand  rather  badly  on  the 
homeward  run,  and  signs  of  poisoning  having  devel- 
oped, had  called  to  have  the  wound  treated,  apologiz- 
ing for  troubling  me  at  so  late  an  hour,  but  explaining 
that  he  had  only  just  come  from  the  docks.  The  hall 
clock  announced  the  hour  of  one  as  I  ascended  the 
stairs.  I  found  myself  wondering  what  there  was  in 
Mr.  Forsyth's  appearance  which  excited  some  vague 
and  elusive  memory.  Coming  to  the  top  floor,  I 
opened  the  door  of  a  front  bedroom  and  was  sur- 
prised to  find  the  interior  in  darkness. 

"Smith!"  I  called. 

"  Come  here  and  watch!  "  was  the  terse  response. 

Nayland  Smith  was  sitting  in  the  dark  at  the  open 
window  and  peering  out  across  the  common.  Even 
as  I  saw  him,  a  dim  silhouette,  I  could  detect  that 
tensity  in  his  attitude  which  told  of  high-strung 
nerves. 

I  joined  him. 

;' What  is  it?"  I  said,  curiously. 

"  I  don't  know.     Watch  that  clump  of  elms." 

His  masterful  voice  had  the  dry  tone  in  it  betoken- 


36    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

ing  excitement.  I  leaned  on  the  ledge  beside  him 
and  looked  out.  The  blaze  of  stars  almost  com- 
pensated for  the  absence  of  the  moon  and  the  night 
had  a  quality  of  stillness  that  made  for  awe.  This 
was  a  tropical  summer,  and  the  common,  with  its 
dancing  lights  dotted  irregularly  about  it,  had  an  un- 
familiar look  to-night.  The  clump  of  nine  elms 
showed  as  a  dense  and  irregular  mass,  lacking  detail. 

Such  moods  as  that  which  now  claimed  my  friend 
are  magnetic.  I  had  no  thought  of  the  night's 
beauty,  for  it  only  served  to  remind  me  that  some- 
where amid  London's  millions  was  lurking  an  un- 
canny being,  whose  life  was  a  mystery,  whose  very 
existence  was  a  scientific  miracle. 

"  Where's  your  patient?  "  rapped  Smith. 

His  abrupt  query  diverted  my  thoughts  into  a  new 
channel.  No  footstep  disturbed  the  silence  of  the 
highroad;  where  was  my  patient? 

I  craned  from  the  window.  Smith  grabbed  my 
arm. 

"  Don't  lean  out,"  he  said. 

I  drew  back,  glancing  at  him  surprisedly. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  why  not?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  presently,  Petrie.  Did  you  see 
him?" 

"  I  did,  and  I  can't  make  out  what  he  is  doing. 
He  seems  to  have  remained  standing  at  the  gate  for 


some  reason." 


"He   has   seen   it!"    snapped  Smith.     "Watch 
those  elms." 


37 

His  hand  remained  upon  my  arm,  gripping  it  nerv- 
ously. Shall  I  say  that  I  was  surprised?  I  can  say 
it  with  truth.  But  I  shall  add  that  I  was  thrilled, 
eerily;  for  this  subdued  excitement  and  alert  watching 
of  Smith  could  only  mean  one  thing: 

Fu-Manchu ! 

And  that  was  enough  to  set  me  watching  as  keenly 
as  he;  to  set  me  listening;  not  only  for  sounds  out- 
side the  house  but  for  sounds  within.  Doubts,  sus- 
picions, dreads,  heaped  themselves  up  in  my  mind. 
Why  was  Forsyth  standing  there  at  the  gate?  I 
had  never  seen  him  before,  to  my  knowledge,  yet 
there  was  something  oddly  reminiscent  about  the  man. 
Could  it  be  that  his  visit  formed  part  of  a  plot? 
Yet  his  wound  had  been  genuine  enough.  Thus  my 
mind  worked,  feverishly;  such  was  the  effect  of  an 
unspoken  thought  —  Fu-Manchu. 

Nayland  Smith's  grip  tightened  on  my  arm. 

"  There  it  is  again,  Petrie !  "  he  whispered. 
"Look,  look!" 

His  words  were  wholly  unnecessary.  I,  too,  had 
seen  it;  a  wonderful  and  uncanny  sight.  Out  of  the 
darkness  under  the  elms,  low  down  upon  the  ground, 
grew  a  vaporous  blue  light.  It  flared  up,  elfinish, 
then  began  to  ascend.  Like  an  igneous  phantom,  a 
witch  flame,  it  rose,  high  —  higher  —  higher,  to  what 
I  adjudged  to  be  some  twelve  feet  or  more  from  the 
ground.  Then,  high  in  the  air,  it  died  away  again 
as  it  had  come ! 

"  For  God's  sake,  Smith,  what  was  it?" 


38     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  Don't  ask  me,  Petrie.  I  have  seen  it  twice. 
We—" 

He  paused.  Rapid  footsteps  sounded  below. 
Over  Smith's  shoulder  I  saw  Forsyth  cross  the  road, 
climb  the  low  rail,  and  set  out  across  the  common. 

Smith  sprang  impetuously  to  his  feet. 

"  We  must  stop  him !  "  he  said  hoarsely;  then,  clap- 
ping a  hand  to  my  mouth  as  I  was  about  to  call  out 
— "  Not  a  sound,  Petrie !  " 

He  ran  out  of  the  room  and  went  blundering  down- 
stairs in  the  dark,  crying: 

"  Out  through  the  garden  —  the  side  entrance !  " 

I  overtook  him  as  he  threw  wide  the  door  of  my 
dispensing  room.  Through  it  he  ran  and  opened  the 
door  at  the  other  end.  I  followed  him  out,  closing  it 
behind  me.  The  smell  from  some  tobacco  plants  in 
a  neighboring  flower-bed  was  faintly  perceptible;  no 
breeze  stirred;  and  in  the  great  silence  I  could  hear 
Smith,  in  front  of  me,  tugging  at  the  bolt  of  the  gate. 

Then  he  had  it  open,  and  I  stepped  out,  close  on 
his  heels,  and  left  the  door  ajar. 

"  We  must  not  appear  to  have  come  from  your 
house,"  explained  Smith  rapidly.  "  I  will  go  along 
the  highroad  and  cross  to  the  common  a  hundred 
yards  up,  where  there  is  a  pathway,  as  though  home- 
ward bound  to  the  north  side.  Give  me  half  a  min- 
ute's start,  then  you  proceed  in  an  opposite  direction 
and  cross  from  the  corner  of  the  next  road.  Di- 
rectly you  are  out  of  the  light  of  the  street  lamps,  get 
over  the  rails  and  run  for  the  elms !  " 


THE  CRY  OF  A  NIGHTHAWK        39 

He  thrust  a  pistol  into  my  hand  and  was  off. 

While  he  had  been  with  me,  speaking  in  that  in- 
cisive, impetuous  way  of  his,  with  his  dark  face  close 
to  mine,  and  his  eyes  gleaming  like  steel,  I  had  been 
at  one  with  him  in  his  feverish  mood,  but  now,  when 
I  stood  alone,  in  that  staid  and  respectable  byway, 
holding  a  loaded  pistol  in  my  hand,  the  whole  thing 
became  utterly  unreal. 

It  was  in  an  odd  frame  of  mind  that  I  walked  to 
the  next  corner,  as  directed;  for  I  was  thinking,  not 
of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  the  great  and  evil  man  who 
dreamed  of  Europe  and  America  under  Chinese  rule, 
not  of  Nayland  Smith,  who  alone  stood  between  the 
Chinaman  and  the  realization  of  his  monstrous 
schemes,  not  even  of  Karamaneh,  the  slave  girl, 
whose  glorious  beauty  was  a  weapon  of  might  in 
Fu-Manchu's  hand,  but  of  what  impression  I  must 
have  made  upon  a  patient  had  I  encountered  one 
then. 

Such  were  my  ideas  up  to  the  moment  that  I 
crossed  to  the  common  and  vaulted  into  the  field  on 
my  right.  As  I  began  to  run  toward  the  elms  I 
found  myself  wondering  what  it  was  all  about,  and 
for  what  we  were  come.  Fifty  yards  west  of  the 
trees  it  occurred  to  me  that  if  Smith  had  counted  on 
cutting  Forsyth  off  we  were  too  late,  for  it  appeared 
to  me  that  he  must  already  be  in  the  coppice. 

I  was  right.  Twenty  paces  more  I  ran,  and  ahead 
of  me,  from  the  elms,  came  a  sound.  Clearly  it  came 
through  the  still  air  —  the  eerie  hoot  of  a  nighthawk. 


40     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

I  could  not  recall  ever  to  have  heard  the  cry  of  that 
bird  on  the  common  before,  but  oddly  enough  I  at- 
tached little  significance  to  it  until,  in  the  ensuing  in- 
stant, a  most  dreadful  scream  —  a  scream  in  which 
fear,  and  loathing,  and  anger  were  hideously  blended 
—  thrilled  me  with  horror. 

After  that  I  have  no  recollection  of  anything  un- 
til I  found  myself  standing  by  the  southernmost  elm. 

"Smith!"  I  cried  breathlessly.  "Smith!  my 
God !  where  are  you  ?  " 

As  if  in  answer  to  my  cry  came  an  indescribable 
sound,  a  mingled  sobbing  and  choking.  Out  from 
the  shadows  staggered  a  ghastly  figure  —  that  of  a 
man  whose  face  appeared  to  be  streaked.  His  eyes 
glared  at  me  madly  and  he  mowed  the  air  with  his 
hands  like  one  blind  and  insane  with  fear. 

I  started  back;  words  died  upon  my  tongue.  The 
figure  reeled  and  the  man  fell  babbling  and  sobbing 
at  my  very  feet. 

Inert  I  stood,  looking  down  at  him.  He  writhed 
a  moment  —  and  was  still.  The  silence  again  be- 
came perfect.  Then,  from  somewhere  beyond  the 
elms,  Nayland  Smith  appeared.  I  did  not  move. 
Even  when  he  stood  beside  me,  I  merely  stared  at  him 
fatuously. 

"  I  let  him  walk  to  his  death,  Petrie,"  I  heard 
dimly.  "  God  forgive  me  —  God  forgive  me !  " 

The  words  aroused  me. 

"  Smith" — my  voice  came  as  a  whisper — "  for 
one  awful  moment  I  thought  — " 


THE  CRY  OF  A  NIGHTHAWK       41 

"  So  did  some  one  else,"  he  rapped.  "  Our  poor 
sailor  has  met  the  end  designed  for  me,  Petrie  1  " 

At  that  I  realized  two  things :  I  knew  why  For- 
syth's  face  had  struck  me  as  being  familiar  in  some 
puzzling  way,  and  I  knew  why  Forsyth  now  lay  dead 
upon  the  grass.  Save  that  he  was  a  fair  man  and 
wore  a  slight  mustache,  he  was,  in  features  and  build, 
the  double  of  Nayland  Smith  1 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  NET 

WE  raised  the  poor  victim  and  turned  him  over 
on  his  back.  I  dropped  upon  my  knees,  and 
with  unsteady  fingers  began  to  strike  a  match.  A 
slight  breeze  was  arising  and  sighing  gently  through 
the  elms,  but,  screened  by  my  hands,  the  flame  of  the 
match  took  life.  It  illuminated  wanly  the  sun-baked 
face  of  Nayland  Smith,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  un- 
natural brightness.  I  bent  forward,  and  the  dying 
light  of  the  match  touched  that  other  face. 

"  Oh,  God!  "  whispered  Smith. 

A  faint  puff  of  wind  extinguished  the  match. 

In  all  my  surgical  experience  I  had  never  met  with 
anything  quite  so  horrible.  Forsyth's  livid  face  was 
streaked  with  tiny  streams  of  blood,  which  proceeded 
from  a  series  of  irregular  wounds.  One  group  of 
these  clustered  upon  his  left  temple,  another  beneath 
his  right  eye,  and  others  extended  from  the  chin  down 
to  the  throat.  They  were  black,  almost  like  tattoo 
marks,  and  the  entire  injured  surface  was  bloated  in- 
describably. His  fists  were  clenched;  he  was  quite 
rigid. 

Smith's  piercing  eyes  were  set  upon  me  eloquently 
as  I  knelt  on  the  path  and  made  my  examination  — 

42 


THE  NET  43 

an  examination  which  that  first  glimpse  when  Forsyth 
came  staggering  out  from  the  trees  had  rendered  use- 
less —  a  mere  matter  of  form. 

"  He's  quite  dead,  Smith,"  I  said  huskily.  "  It's 
—  unnatural  —  it  — " 

Smith  began  beating  his  fist  into  his  left  palm  and 
taking  little,  short,  nervous  strides  up  and  down  be- 
side the  dead  man.  I  could  hear  a  car  humming 
along  the  highroad,  but  I  remained  there  on  my  knees 
staring  dully  at  the  disfigured  bloody  face  which  but 
a  matter  of  minutes  since  had  been  that  of  a  clean- 
looking  British  seaman.  I  found  myself  contrasting 
his  neat,  squarely  trimmed  mustache  with  the  bloated 
face  above  it,  and  counting  the  little  drops  of  blood 
which  trembled  upon  its  edge.  There  were  foot- 
steps approaching.  I  stood  up.  The  footsteps 
quickened ;  and  I  turned  as  a  constable  ran  up. 

"What's  this?"  he  demanded  gruffly,  and  stood 
with  his  fists  clenched,  looking  from  Smith  to  me  and 
down  at  that  which  lay  between  us.  Then  his  hand 
flew  to  his  breast;  there  was  a  silvern  gleam  and  — 

"  Drop  that  whistle  1  "  snapped  Smith  —  and 
struck  it  from  the  man's  hand.  "  Where's  your 
lantern  ?  Don't  ask  questions !  " 

The  constable  started  back  and  was  evidently  de- 
bating upon  his  chances  with  the  two  of  us,  when  my 
friend  pulled  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and  thrust  it 
under  the  man's  nose. 

"Read  that!"  he  directed  harshly,  "and  then 
listen  to  my  orders." 


44     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

There  was  something  in  his  voice  which  changed 
the  officer's  opinion  of  the  situation.  He  directed 
the  light  of  his  lantern  upon  the  open  letter  and 
seemed  to  be  stricken  with  wonder. 

"  If  you  have  any  doubts,"  continued  Smith  — 
"  you  may  not  be  familiar  with  the  Commissioner's 
signature  —  you  have  only  to  ring  up  Scotland  Yard 
from  Dr.  Petrie's  house,  to  which  we  shall  now  re- 
turn, to  disperse  them."  He  pointed  to  Forsyth. 
"  Help  us  to  carry  him  there.  We  must  not  be  seen ; 
this  must  be  hushed  up.  You  understand?  It  must 
not  get  into  the  press  — " 

The  man  saluted  respectfully;  and  the  three  of  us 
addressed  ourselves  to  the  mournful  task.  By  slow 
stages  we  bore  the  dead  man  to  the  edge  of  the  com- 
mon, carried  him  across  the  road  and  into  my  house> 
without  exciting  attention  even  on  the  part  of  those 
vagrants  who  nightly  slept  out  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

We  laid  our  burden  upon  the  surgery  table. 

"  You  will  want  to  make  an  examination,  Petrie," 
said  Smith  in  his  decisive  way,  "  and  the  officer  here 
might  'phone  for  the  ambulance.  I  have  some  in- 
vestigations to  make  also.  I  must  have  the  pocket 
lamp." 

He  raced  upstairs  to  his  room,  and  an  instant  later 
came  running  down  again.  The  front  door  banged. 

"  The  telephone  is  in  the  hall,"  I  said  to  the  con- 
stable. 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 


THE  NET  45 

He  went  out  of  the  surgery  as  I  switched  on  the 
lamp  over  the  table  and  began  to  examine  the  marks 
upon  Forsyth's  skin.  These,  as  I  have  said,  were 
in  groups  and  nearly  all  in  the  form  of  elongated 
punctures ;  a  fairly  deep  incision  with  a  pear-shaped 
and  superficial  scratch  beneath  it.  One  of  the  tiny 
wounds  had  penetrated  the  right  eye. 

The  symptoms,  or  those  which  I  had  been  enabled 
to  observe  as  Forsyth  had  first  staggered  into  view 
from  among  the  elms,  were  most  puzzling.  Clearly 
enough,  the  muscles  of  articulation  and  the  respira- 
tory muscles  had  been  affected;  and  now  the  livid 
face,  dotted  over  with  tiny  wounds  (they  were  also 
on  the  throat) ,  set  me  mentally  groping  for  a  clue  to 
the  manner  of  his  death. 

No  clue  presented  itself;  and  my  detailed  exam- 
ination of  the  body  availed  me  nothing.  The  gray 
herald  of  dawn  was  come  when  the  police  arrived 
with  the  ambulance  and  took  Forsyth  away. 

I  was  just  taking  my  cap  from  the  rack  when  Nay- 
land  Smith  returned. 

"Smith!"  I  cried — "have  you  found  any- 
thing?" 

He  stood  there  in  the  gray  light  of  the  hallway, 
tugging  at  the  lobe  of  his  left  ear  —  an  old  trick  of 
his. 

The  bronzed  face  looked  very  gaunt,  I  thought, 
and  his  eyes  were  bright  with  that  febrile  glitter  which 
once  I  had  disliked,  but  which  I  had  learned  from 
experience  were  due  to  tremendous  nervous  excite- 


46     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

ment.  At  such  times  he  could  act  with  icy  coolness 
and  his  mental  faculties  seemed  temporarily  to  ac- 
quire an  abnormal  keenness.  He  made  no  direct 
reply;  but  — 

"  Have  you  any  milk?  "  he  jerked  abruptly. 

So  wholly  unexpected  was  the  question,  that  for  a 
moment  I  failed  to  grasp  it.  Then  — 

"Milk!  "I  began. 

"  Exactly,  Petrie !  If  you  can  find  me  some  milk, 
I  shall  be  obliged." 

I  turned  to  descend  to  the  kitchen,  when  — 
'  The  remains  of  the  turbot  from  dinner,  Petrie, 
would  also  be  welcome,  and  I  think  I  should  like  a 
trowel." 

I  stopped  at  the  stairhead  and  faced  him. 

"  I  cannot  suppose  that  you  are  joking,  Smith,"  I 
said,  "but—" 

He  laughed  dryly. 

"  Forgive  me,  old  man,"  he  replied.  "  I  was  so 
preoccupied  with  my  own  train  of  thought  that  it 
never  occurred  to  me  how  absurd  my  request  must 
have  sounded.  I  will  explain  my  singular  tastes 
later;  at  the  moment,  hustle  is  the  watchword." 

Evidently  he  was  in  earnest,  and  I  ran  downstairs 
accordingly,  returning  with  a  garden  trowel,  a  plate 
of  cold  fish  and  a  glass  of  milk. 

"Thanks,  Petrie,"  said  Smith— "If  you  would 
put  the  milk  in  a  jug  — " 

I  was  past  wondering,  so  I  simply  went  and  fetched 
a  jug,  into  which  he  poured  the  milk.  Then,  with 


THE  NET  47 

the  trowel  in  his  pocket,  the  plate  of  cold  turbot  in 
one  hand  and  the  milk  jug  in  the  other,  he  made  for 
the  door.  He  had  it  open  when  another  idea  evi- 
dently occurred  to  him. 

"  I'll  trouble  you  for  the  pistol,  Petrie." 

I  handed  him  the  pistol  without  a  word. 

"  Don't  assume  that  I  want  to  mystify  you,"  he 
added,  "  but  the  presence  of  any  one  else  might 
jeopardize  my  plan.  I  don't  expect  to  be  long." 

The  cold  light  of  dawn  flooded  the  hallway  mo- 
mentarily; then  the  door  closed  again  and  I  went 
upstairs  to  my  study,  watching  Nayland  Smith  as  he 
strode  across  the  common  in  the  early  morning  mist. 
He  was  making  for  the  Nine  Elms,  but  I  lost  sight  of 
him  before  he  reached  them. 

I  sat  there  for  some  time,  watching  for  the  first 
glow  of  sunrise.  A  policeman  tramped  past  the 
house,  and,  a  while  later,  a  belated  reveler  in  evening 
clothes.  That  sense  of  unreality  assailed  me  again. 
Out  there  in  the  gray  mists  a  man  who  was  vested 
with  powers  which  rendered  him  a  law  unto  himself, 
who  had  the  British  Government  behind  him  in  all 
that  he  might  choose  to  do,  who  had  been  summoned 
from  Rangoon  to  London  on  singular  and  dangerous 
business,  was  employing  himself  with  a  plate  of  cold 
turbot,  a  jug  of  milk,  and  a  trowel ! 

Away  to  the  right,  and  just  barely  visible,  a  tram- 
car  stopped  by  the  common;  then  proceeded  on  its 
way,  coming  in  a  westerly  direction.  Its  lights 
twinkled  yellowly  through  the  grayness,  but  I  was 


48     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

less  concerned  with  the  approaching  car  than  with 
the  solitary  traveler  who  had  descended  from  it. 

As  the  car  went  rocking  by  below  me,  I  strained  my 
eyes  in  an  endeavor  more  clearly  to  discern  the  figure, 
which,  leaving  the  highroad,  had  struck  out  across 
the  common.  It  was  that  of  a  woman,  who  seem- 
ingly carried  a  bulky  bag  or  parcel. 

One  must  be  a  gross  materialist  to  doubt  that  there 
are  latent  powers  in  man  which  man,  in  modern  times, 
neglects,  or  knows  not  how  to  develop.  I  became 
suddenly  conscious  of  a  burning  curiosity  respecting 
this  lonely  traveler  who  traveled  at  an  hour  so 
strange.  With  no  definite  plan  in  mind,  I  went 
downstairs,  took  a  cap  from  the  rack,  and  walked 
briskly  out  of  the  house  and  across  the  common  in  a 
direction  which  I  thought  would  enable  me  to  head 
dft  the  woman. 

I  had  slightly  miscalculated  the  distance,  as  Fate 
would  have  it,  and  with  a  patch  of  gorse  effectually 
screening  my  approach,  I  came  upon  her,  kneeling  on 
the  damp  grass  and  unfastening  the  bundle  which 
had  attracted  my  attention.  I  stopped  and  watched 
her. 

She  was  dressed  in  bedraggled  fashion  in  rusty 
black,  wore  a  common  black  straw  hat  and  a  thick 
veil;  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  dexterous  hands 
at  work  untying  the  bundle  were  slim  and  white; 
and  I  perceived  a  pair  of  hideous  cotton  gloves  lying 
on  the  turf  beside  her.  As  she  threw  open  the  wrap- 
pings and  lifted  out  something  that  looked  like  a 


THE  NET  49 

small  shrimping  net,  I  stepped  around  the  bush, 
crossed  silently  the  intervening  patch  of  grass,  and 
stood  beside  her. 

A  faint  breath  of  perfume  reached  me  —  of  a  per- 
fume which,  like  the  secret  incense  of  Ancient  Egypt, 
seemed  to  assail  my  soul.  The  glamour  of  the  Orient 
was  in  that  subtle  essence;  and  I  only  knew  one 
woman  who  used  it.  I  bent  over  the  kneeling  figure. 

"Good  morning,"  I  said;  "can  I  assist  you  in 
any  way?  " 

She  came  to  her  feet  like  a  startled  deer,  and  flung 
away  from  me  with  the  lithe  movement  of  some 
Eastern  dancing  girl. 

Now  came  the  sun,  and  its  heralding  rays  struck 
sparks  from  the  jewels  upon  the  white  fingers  of 
this  woman  who  wore  the  garments  of  a  mendicant. 
My  heart  gave  a  great  leap.  It  was  with  difficulty 
that  I  controlled  my  voice. 

"  There  is  no  cause  for  alarm,"  I  added. 

She  stood  watching  me;  even  through  the  coarse 
veil  I  could  see  how  her  eyes  glittered.  I  stooped 
and  picked  up  the  net. 

"  Oh!  "  The  whispered  word  was  scarcely  audi- 
ble, but  it  was  enough;  I  doubted  no  longer. 

"  This  is  a  net  for  bird  snaring,"  I  said.  "  What 
strange  bird  are  you  seeking  —  Kdramaneh?  " 

With  a  passionate  gesture  Karamaneh  snatched  off 
the  veil,  and  with  it  the  ugly  black  hat.  The  cloud 
of  wonderful,  intractable  hair  came  rumpling  about 
her  face,  and  her  glorious  eyes  blazed  out  upon  me. 


5o     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

How  beautiful  they  were,  with  the  dark  beauty  of 
an  Egyptian  night;  how  often  had  they  looked  into 
mine  in  dreams ! 

To  labor  against  a  ceaseless  yearning  for  a  woman 
whom  one  knows,  upon  evidence  that  none  but  a  fool 
might  reject,  to  be  worthless  —  evil;  is  there  any 
torture  to  which  the  soul  of  man  is  subject,  more 
pitiless?  Yet  this  was  my  lot,  for  what  past  sins 
assigned  to  me  I  was  unable  to  conjecture;  and  this 
was  the  woman,  this  lovely  slave  of  a  monster,  this 
creature  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  declare  that  you  do  not  know 
me !  "  I  said  harshly. 

Her  lips  trembled,  but  she  made  no  reply. 

"  It  is  very  convenient  to  forget,  sometimes,"  I 
ran  on  bitterly,  then  checked  myself;  for  I  knew  that 
my  words  were  prompted  by  a  feckless  desire  to  hear 
her  defense,  by  a  fool's  hope  that  it  might  be  an  ac- 
ceptable one. 

I  looked  again  at  the  net  contrivance  in  my  hand; 
it  had  a  strong  spring  fitted  to  it  and  a  line  attached. 
Quite  obviously  it  was  intended  for  snaring. 

"What  were  you  about  to  do?"  I  demanded 
sharply  —  but  in  my  heart,  poor  fool  that  I  was,  I 
found  admiration  for  the  exquisite  arch  of  Kara- 
maneh's  lips,  and  reproach  because  they  were  so 
tremulous. 

She  spoke  then. 

"  Dr.  Petrie  — " 

"Well?" 


THE  NET  51 

"  You  seem  to  be  —  angry  with  me,  not  so  much 
because  of  what  I  do,  as  because  I  do  not  remember 
you.  Yet—" 

"  Kindly  do  not  revert  to  the  matter,"  I  inter- 
rupted. "  You  have  chosen,  very  conveniently,  to 
forget  that  once  we  were  friends.  Please  yourself. 
But  answer  my  question." 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  a  sort  of  wild  abandon. 

"Why  do  you  treat  me  so!  "  she  cried;  she  had 
the  most  fascinating  accent  imaginable.  "  Throw 
me  into  prison,  kill  me  if  you  like,  for  what  I  have 
done !  "  She  stamped  her  foot.  "  For  what  I  have 
done !  But  do  not  torture  me,  try  to  drive  me  mad 
with  your  reproaches  —  that  I  forget  you !  I  tell 
you  —  again  I  tell  you  —  that  until  you  came  one 
night,  last  week,  to  rescue  some  one  from — " 
There  was  the  old  trick  of  hesitating  before  the 
name  of  Fu-Manchu  — "  from  him,  I  had  never, 
never  seen  you !  " 

The  dark  eyes  looked  into  mine,  afire  with  a  posi- 
tive hunger  for  belief  —  or  so  I  was  sorely  tempted 
to  suppose.  But  the  facts  were  against  her. 

"  Such  a  declaration  is  worthless,"  I  said,  as  coldly 
as  I  could.  "  You  are  a  traitress ;  you  betray  those 
who  are  mad  enough  to  trust  you  — " 

"  I  am  no  traitress!  "  she  blazed  at  me;  her  eyes 
were  magnificent. 

"  This  is  mere  nonsense.  You  think  that  it  will 
pay  you  better  to  serve  Fu-Manchu  than  to  remain 
true  to  your  friends.  Your  '  slavery  ' —  for  I  take 


5?     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

it  you  are  posing  as  a  slave  again  —  is  evidently  not 
very  harsh.  You  serve  Fu-Manchu,  lure  men  to 
their  destruction,  and  in  return  he  loads  you  with 
jewels,  lavishes  gifts — •" 

"Ah!  so!" 

She  sprang  forward,  raising  flaming  eyes  to  mine; 
her  lips  were  slightly  parted.  With  that  wild  aban- 
don which  betrayed  the  desert  blood  in  her  veins,  she 
wrenched  open  the  neck  of  her  bodice  and  slipped  a 
soft  shoulder  free  of  the  garment.  She  twisted 
around,  so  that  the  white  skin  was  but  inches  re- 
moved from  me. 

"  These  are  some  of  the  gifts  that  he  lavishes 
upon  me  1  " 

I  clenched  my  teeth.  Insane  thoughts  flooded 
my  mind.  For  that  creamy  skin  was  red  with  the 
marks  of  the  lash! 

She  turned,  quickly  rearranging  her  dress,  and 
watching  me  the  while.  I  could  not  trust  myself  to 
speak  for  a  moment,  then: 

"  If  I  am  a  stranger  to  you,  as  you  claim,  why  do 
you  give  me  your  confidence?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  have  known  you  long  enough  to  trust  you !  " 
she  said  simply,  and  turned  her  head  aside. 

"  Then  why  do  you  serve  this  inhuman  monster?  " 

She  snapped  her  fingers  oddly,  and  looked  up  at 
me  from  under  her  lashes.  "  Why  do  you  question 
me  if  you  think  that  everything  I  say  is  a  lie  ?  " 

It  was  a  lesson  in  logic  —  from  a  woman !  I 
changed  the  subject. 


THE  NET  53 

"  Tell  me  what  you  came  here  to  do,"  I  de- 
manded. 

She  pointed  to  the  net  in  my  hands. 

"  To  catch  birds;  you  have  said  so  yourself." 

"What  bird?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

And  now  a  memory  was  born  within  my  brain;  it 
was  that  of  the  cry  of  the  nighthawk  which  had 
harbingered  the  death  of  Forsyth !  The  net  was  a 
large  and  strong  one;  could  it  be  that  some  horrible 
fowl  of  the  air  —  some  creature  unknown  to  West- 
ern naturalists  —  had  been  released  upon  the  common 
last  night?  I  thought  of  the  marks  upon  Forsyth's 
face  and  throat;  I  thought  of  the  profound  knowl- 
edge of  obscure  and  dreadful  things  possessed  by  the 
Chinaman. 

The  wrapping,  in  which  the  net  had  been,  lay  at  my 
feet.  I  stooped  and  took  out  from  it  a  wicker  basket. 
Karamaneh  stood  watching  me  and  biting  her  lip, 
but  she  made  no  move  to  check  me.  I  opened  the 
basket.  It  contained  a  large  phial,  the  contents  of 
which  possessed  a  pungent  and  peculiar  smell. 

I  was  utterly  mystified. 

"  You  will  have  to  accompany  me  to  my  house,"  I 
said  sternly. 

Karamaneh  upturned  her  great  eyes  to  mine. 
They  were  wide  with  fear.  She  was  on  the  point  of 
speaking  when  I  extended  my  hand  to  grasp  her. 
At  that,  the  look  of  fear  was  gone  and  one  of  rebel- 
lion held  its  place.  Ere  I  had  time  to  realize  her 


54     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

purpose,  she  flung  back  from  me  with  that  wild  grace 
which  I  had  met  with  in  no  other  woman,  turned  — 
and  ran ! 

Fatuously,  net  and  basket  in  hand,  I  stood  looking 
after  her.  The  idea  of  pursuit  came  to  me  certainly ; 
but  I  doubted  if  I  could  have  outrun  her.  For  Kara- 
maneh  ran,  not  like  a  girl  used  to  town  or  even 
country  life,  but  with  the  lightness  and  swiftness  of 
a  gazelle ;  ran  like  the  daughter  of  the  desert  that  she 
was. 

Some  two  hundred  yards  she  went,  stopped,  and 
looked  back.  It  would  seem  that  the  sheer  joy  of 
physical  effort  had  aroused  the  devil  in  her,  the  devil 
that  must  lie  latent  in  every  woman  with  eyes  like  the 
eyes  of  Karamaneh. 

In  the  ever  brightening  sunlight  I  could  see  the 
lithe  figure  swaying;  no  rags  imaginable  could  mask 
its  beauty.  I  could  see  the  red  lips  and  gleaming 
teeth.  Then  —  and  it  was  music  good  to  hear,  de- 
spite its  taunt  — •  she  laughed  defiantly,  turned,  and 
ran  again! 

I  resigned  myself  to  defeat;  I  blush  to  add,  gladly! 
Some  evidences  of  a  world  awakening  were  percept- 
ible about  me  now.  Feathered  choirs  hailed  the  new 
day  joyously.  Carrying  the  mysterious  contrivance 
which  I  had  captured  from  the  enemy,  I  set  out  in 
the  direction  of  my  house,  my  mind  very  busy  with 
conjectures  respecting  the  link  between  this  bird 
snare  and  the  cry  like  that  of  a  nighthawk  which  we 
had  heard  at  the  moment  of  Forsyth's  death. 


THE  NET  55 

The  path  that  I  had  chosen  led  me  around  the 
border  of  the  Mound  Pond  —  a  small  pool  having 
an  islet  in  the  center.  Lying  at  the  margin  of  the 
pond  I  was  amazed  to  see  the  plate  and  jug  which 
Nayland  Smith  had  borrowed  recently! 

Dropping  my  burden,  I  walked  down  to  the  edge 
of  the  water.  I  was  filled  with  a  sudden  apprehen- 
sion. Then,  as  I  bent  to  pick  up  the  now  empty  jug, 
came  a  hail: 

"All  right,  Petrie!  Shall  join  you  in  a  mo- 
ment! " 

I  started  up,  looked  to  right  and  left;  but,  although 
the  voice  had  been  that  of  Nayland  Smith,  no  sign 
could  I  discern  of  his  presence ! 

"Smith!  "I  cried —"Smith!" 

"Coming!" 

Seriously  doubting  my  senses,  I  looked  in  the  di- 
rection from  which  the  voice  had  seemed  to  proceed 
—  and  there  was  Nayland  Smith. 

He  stood  on  the  islet  in  the  center  of  the  pond, 
and,  as  I  perceived  him,  he  walked  down  into  the 
shallow  water  and  waded  across  to  me ! 

"  Good  heavens !  "  I  began  — 

One  of  his  rare  laughs  interrupted  me. 

"  You  must  think  me  mad  this  morning,  Petrie!  " 
he  said.  "  But  I  have  made  several  discoveries. 
Do  you  know  what  that  islet  in  the  pond  really 
is?" 

"  Merely  an  islet,  I  suppose  — " 

"Nothing  of  the  kind;   it   is   a   burial  mound, 


56     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

Petrie !  It  marks  the  site  of  one  of  the  Plague  Pits 
where  victims  were  buried  during  the  Great  Plague 
of  London.  You  will  observe  that,  although  you 
have  seen  it  every  morning  for  some  years,  it  remains 
for  a  British  Commissioner  resident  in  Burma  to 
acquaint  you  with  its  history !  Hullo !  " —  the  laugh- 
ter was  gone  from  his  eyes,  and  they  were  steely  hard 
again — "  what  the  blazes  have  we  here!  " 

He  picked  up  the  net.     "  What!  a  bird  trap !  " 

44  Exactly  I"  I  said. 

Smith  turned  his  searching  gaze  upon  me. 
"  Where  did  you  find  it,  Petrie?  " 

"  I  did  not  exactly  find  it,"  I  replied;  and  I  related 
to  him  the  circumstances  of  my  meeting  with  Kara- 
maneh. 

He  directed  that  cold  stare  upon  me  throughout 
the  narrative,  and  when,  with  some  embarrassment, 
I  had  told  him  of  the  girl's  escape  — 

"  Petrie,"  he  said  succinctly,  "  you  are  an  im- 
becile!" 

I  flushed  with  anger,  for  not  even  from  Nayland 
Smith,  whom  I  esteemed  above  all  other  men,  could  I 
accept  such  words  uttered  as  he  had  uttered  them. 
We  glared  at  one  another. 

"  Karamaneh,"  he  continued  coldly,  "  is  a  beauti- 
ful toy,  I  grant  you;  but  so  is  a  cobra.  Neither  is 
suitable  for  playful  purposes." 

"Smith!"  I  cried  hotly— "drop  that!  Adopt 
another  tone  or  I  cannot  listen  to  you !  " 

"  You  must  listen,"  he  said,  squaring  his  lean  jaw 


THE  NET  57 

truculently.  "  You  are  playing,  not  only  with  a 
pretty  girl  who  is  the  favorite  of  a  Chinese  Nero, 
but  with  my  life!  And  I  object,  Petrie,  on  purely 
personal  grounds !  " 

I  felt  my  anger  oozing  from  me;  for  this  was 
strictly  just.     I  had  nothing  to  say,  and  Smith  con- 
tinued : 

"  You  know  that  she  is  utterly  false,  yet  a  glance 
or  two  from  those  dark  eyes  of  hers  can  make  a 
fool  of  you!  A  woman  made  a  fool  of  me,  once; 
but  I  learned  my  lesson;  you  have  failed  to  learn 
yours.  If  you  are  determined  to  go  to  pieces  on  the 
rock  that  broke  up  Adam,  do  so !  But  don't  involve 
me  in  the  wreck,  Petrie  —  for  that  might  mean  a 
yellow  emperor  of  the  world,  and  you  know  it  I  " 

'  Your  words  are  unnecessarily  brutal,  Smith,"  I 
said,  feeling  very  crestfallen,  "  but  there  —  perhaps 
I  fully  deserve  them  all." 

'  You  do!  "  he  assured  me,  but  he  relaxed  imme- 
diately. "  A  murderous  attempt  is  made  upon  my 
life,  resulting  in  the  death  of  a  perfectly  innocent 
man  in  no  way  concerned.  Along  you  come  and  let 
an  accomplice,  perhaps  a  participant,  escape,  merely 
because  she  has  a  red  mouth,  or  black  lashes,  or 
whatever  it  is  that  fascinates  you  so  hopelessly!  " 

He  opened  the  wicker  basket,  sniffing  at  the  con- 
tents. 

"  Ah !  "  he  snapped,  "  do  you  recognize  this 
odor?" 

II  Certainly." 


58     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  Then  you  have  some  idea  respecting  Kara- 
maneh's  quarry?" 

"Nothing  of  the  kind!" 

Smith  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Come  along,  Petrie,"  he  said,  linking  his  arm 
in  mine. 

We  proceeded.  Many  questions  there  were  that 
I  wanted  to  put  to  him,  but  one  above  all. 

"  Smith,"  I  said,  "  what,  in  Heaven's  name,  were 
you  doing  on  the  mound  ?  Digging  something  up  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  replied,  smiling  dryly;  "  burying  some- 
thing!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

UNDER  THE  ELMS 

DUSK  found  Nayland  Smith  and  me  at  the  top 
bedroom  window.  We  knew,  now  that  poor 
Forsyth's  body  had  been  properly  examined,  that  he 
had  died  from  poisoning.  Smith,  declaring  that  I 
did  not  deserve  his  confidence,  had  refused  to  confide 
in  me  his  theory  of  the  origin  of  the  peculiar  marks 
upon  the  body. 

"  On  the  soft  ground  under  the  trees,"  he  said, 
"  I  found  his  tracks  right  up  to  the  point  where  — 
something  happened.  There  were  no  other  fresh 
tracks  for  several  yards  around.  He  was  attacked 
as  he  stood  close  to  the  trunk  of  one  of  the  elms. 
Six  or  seven  feet  away  I  found  some  other  tracks, 
very  much  like  this." 

He  marked  a  series  of  dots  upon  the  blotting  pad 
at  his  elbow. 

"Claws!"  I  cried.  "That  eerie  call!  like  the 
call  of  a  nighthawk  — •  is  it  some  unknown  species 
of  —  flying  thing  ?  " 

14  We  shall  see,  shortly;  possibly  to-night,"  was 
his  reply.  "  Since,  probably  owing  to  the  absence  of 
any  moon,  a  mistake  was  made,"  his  jaw  hardened 
at  the  thoughts  of  poor  Forsyth  — "  another  attempt 

59 


60     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

along  the  same  lines  will  almost  certainly  follow—-, 
you  know  Fu-Manchu's  system?  " 

So  in  the  darkness,  expectant,  we  sat  watching  the 
group  of  nine  elms.  To-night  the  moon  was  come, 
raising  her  Aladdin's  lamp  up  to  the  star  world  and 
summoning  magic  shadows  into  being.  By  midnight 
the  highroad  showed  deserted,  the  common  was  a 
place  of  mystery;  and  save  for  the  periodical  passage 
of  an  electric  car,  in  blazing  modernity,  this  was  a 
fit  enough  stage  for  an  eerie  drama. 

No  notice  of  the  tragedy  had  appeared  in  print; 
Nayland  Smith  was  vested  with  powers  to  silence  the 
press.  No  detectives,  no  special  constables,  were 
posted.  My  friend  was  of  opinion  that  the  public- 
ity which  had  been  given  to  the  deeds  of  Dr.  Fu- 
Manchu  in  the  past,  together  with  the  sometimes 
clumsy  co-operation  of  the  police,  had  contributed 
not  a  little  to  the  Chinaman's  success. 

'  There  is  only  one  thing  to  fear,"  he  jerked  sud- 
denly; "he  may  not  be  ready  for  another  attempt 
to-night." 

"Why?" 

"  Since  he  has  only  been  in  England  for  a  short 
time,  his  menagerie  of  venomous  things  may  be  a 
limited  one  at  present." 

Earlier  in  the  evening  there  had  been  a  brief  but 
violent  thunderstorm,  with  a  tropical  downpour  of 
rain,  and  now  clouds  were  scudding  across  the  blue 
of  the  sky.  Through  a  temporary  rift  in  the  veiling 
the  crescent  of  the  moon  looked  down  upon  us.  It 


UNDER  THE  ELMS  6r 

had  a  greenish  tint,  and  it  set  me  thinking  of  the 
filmed,  green  eyes  of  Fu-Manchu. 

The  cloud  passed  and  a  lake  of  silver  spread  out 
to  the  edge  of  the  coppice,  where  it  terminated  at  a 
shadow  bank. 

"  There  it  is,  Petrie !  "  hissed  Nayland  Smith. 

A  lambent  light  was  born  in  the  darkness ;  it  rose 
slowly,  unsteadily,  to  a  great  height,  and  died. 

"  It's  under  the  trees,  Smith!  " 

But  he  was  already  making  for  the  door.  Over 
his  shoulder: 

"  Bring  the  pistol,  Petrie !  "  he  cried;  "  I  have  an- 
other. Give  me  at  least  twenty  yards'  start  or  no 
attempt  may  be  made.  But  the  instant  I'm  under 
the  trees,  join  me." 

Out  of  the  house  we  ran,  and  over  onto  the  com- 
mon, which  latterly  had  been  a  pageant  ground  for 
phantom  warring.  The  light  did  not  appear  again; 
and  as  Smith  plunged  off  toward  the  trees,  I  won- 
dered if  he  knew  what  uncanny  thing  was  hidden 
there.  I  more  than  suspected  that  he  had  solved 
the  mystery. 

His  instructions  to  keep  well  in  the  rear  I  under- 
stood. Fu-Manchu,  or  the  creature  of  Fu-Manchu, 
would  attempt  nothing  in  the  presence  of  a  witness. 
But  we  knew  full  well  that  the  instrument  of  death 
which  was  hidden  in  the  elm  coppice  could  do  its 
ghastly  work  and  leave  no  clue,  could  slay  and  vanish. 
For  had  not  Forsyth  come  to  a  dreadful  end  while 
Smith  and  I  were  within  twenty  yards  of  him? 


62     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

Not  a  breeze  stirred,  as  Smith,  ahead  of  me  — 
for  I  had  slowed  my  pace  —  came  up  level  with  the 
first  tree.  The  moon  sailed  clear  of  the  straggling 
cloud  wisps  which  alone  told  of  the  recent  storm; 
and  I  noted  that  an  irregular  patch  of  light  lay 
silvern  on  the  moist  ground  under  the  elms  where 
otherwise  lay  shadow. 

He  passed  on,  slowly.  I  began  to  run  again. 
Black  against  the  silvern  patch,  I  saw  him  emerge  — 
and  look  up. 

"  Be  careful,  Smith !  "  I  cried  —  and  I  was  racing 
under  the  trees  to  join  him. 

Uttering  a  loud  cry,  he  leaped  —  away  from  the 
pool  of  light. 

"Stand  back,  Petrie!"  he  screamed — "Back! 
further!" 

He  charged  into  me,  shoulder  lowered,  and  sent 
me  reeling ! 

Mixed  up  with  his  excited  cry  I  had  heard  a  loud 
splintering  and  sweeping  of  branches  overhead;  and 
now  as  we  staggered  into  the  shadows  it  seemed  that 
one  of  the  elms  was  reaching  down  to  touch  us !  So, 
at  least,  the  phenomenon  presented  itself  to  my  mind 
in  that  fleeting  moment  while  Smith,  uttering  his 
warning  cry,  was  hurling  me  back. 

Then  the  truth  became  apparent. 

With  an  appalling  crash,  a  huge  bough  fell 
from  above.  One  piercing,  awful  shriek  there  was, 
a  crackling  of  broken  branches,  and  a  choking 
groan  .  .  . 


UNDER  THE  ELMS  63 

The  crack  of  Smith's  pistol  close  beside  me  com- 
pleted my  confusion  of  mind. 

"  Missed!  "  he  yelled.  "  Shoot  it,  Petrie!  On 
your  left!  For  God's  sake  don't  miss  it!  " 

I  turned.  A  lithe  black  shape  was  streaking  past 
me.  I  fired  —  once  —  twice.  Another  frightful 
cry  made  yet  more  hideous  the  nocturne. 

Nayland  Smith  was  directing  the  ray  of  a  pocket 
torch  upon  the  fallen  bough. 

"  Have  you  killed  it,  Petrie?  "  he  cried. 

"Yes,  yes!" 

I  stood  beside  him,  looking  down.  From  the  tan- 
gle of  leaves  and  twigs  an  evil  yellow  face  looked  up 
at  us.  The  features  were  contorted  with  agony,  but 
the  malignant  eyes,  wherein  light  was  dying,  re- 
garded us  with  inflexible  hatred.  The  man  was 
pinned  beneath  the  heavy  bough;  his  back  was 
broken;  and  as  we  watched,  he  expired,  frothing 
slightly  at  the  mouth,  and  quitted  his  tenement  of 
clay,  leaving  those  glassy  eyes  set  hideously  upon  us. 

"  The  pagan  gods  fight  upon  our  side,"  said  Smith 
strangely.  "  Elms  have  a  dangerous  habit  of  shed- 
ding boughs  in  still  weather  —  particularly  after  a 
storm.  Pan,  god  of  the  woods,  with  this  one  has 
performed  Justice's  work  of  retribution." 

"  I  don't  understand.     Where  was  this  man  — " 

"  Up  the  tree,  lying  along  the  bough  which  fell, 
Petrie !  That  is  why  he  left  no  footmarks.  Last 
night  no  doubt  he  made  his  escape  by  swinging  from 
bough  to  bough,  ape  fashion,  and  descending  to  the 


64     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

ground  somewhere  at  the  other  side  of  the  coppice." 

He  glanced  at  me. 

'  You  are  wondering,  perhaps,"  he  suggested, 
"  what  caused  the  mysterious  light?  I  could  have 
told  you  this  morning,  but  I  fear  I  was  in  a  bad 
temper,  Petrie.  It's  very  simple:  a  length  of  tape 
soaked  in  spirit  or  something  of  the  kind,  and  shel- 
tered from  the  view  of  any  one  watching  from  your 
windows,  behind  the  trunk  of  the  tree ;  then,  the  end 
ignited,  lowered,  still  behind  the  tree,  to  the  ground. 
The  operator  swinging  it  around,  the  flame  ascended, 
of  course.  I  found  the  unburned  fragment  of  the 
tape  last  night,  a  few  yards  from  here." 

I  was  peering  down  at  Fu-Manchu's  servant,  the 
hideous  yellow  man  who  lay  dead  in  a  bower  of  elm 
leaves. 

"  He  has  some  kind  of  leather  bag  beside  him,"  I 
began  — 

"  Exactly !  "  rapped  Smith.  "  In  that  he  carried 
his  dangerous  instrument  of  death;  from  that  he  re- 
leased it!  " 

"Released  what?" 

"  What  your  fascinating  friend  came  to  recapture 
this  morning." 

"  Don't  taunt  me,  Smith !  "  I  said  bitterly.  "  Is 
it  some  species  of  bird?  " 

"  You  saw  the  marks  on  Forsyth's  body,  and  I 
told  you  of  those  which  I  had  traced  upon  the  ground 
here.  They  were  caused  by  claws,  Petrie !  " 

"  Claws !     I  thought  so  1     But  what  claws  ?  " 


UNDER  THE  ELMS  65 

"  The  claws  of  a  poisonous  thing.  I  recaptured 
the  one  used  last  night,  killed  it  —  against  my  will 
—  and  buried  it  on  the  mound.  I  was  afraid  to 
throw  it  in  the  pond,  lest  some  juvenile  fisherman 
should  pull  it  out  and  sustain  a  scratch.  I  don't 
know  how  long  the  claws  would  remain  venomous." 

"  You  are  treating  me  like  a  child,  Smith,"  I  said 
slowly.  "  No  doubt  I  am  hopelessly  obtuse,  but 
perhaps  you  will  tell  me  what  this  Chinaman  carried 
in  a  leather  bag  and  released  upon  Forsyth.  It  was 
something  which  you  recaptured,  apparently  with  the 
aid  of  a  plate  of  cold  turbot  and  a  jug  of  milk!  It 
was  something,  also,  which  Karamaneh  had  been 
sent  to  recapture  with  the  aid — " 

I  stopped. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Nayland  Smith,  turning  the  ray  to 
the  left,  "  what  did  she  have  in  the  basket?  " 

"  Valerian,"  I  replied  mechanically. 

The  ray  rested  upon  the  lithe  creature  that  I  had 
shot  down. 

It  was  a  black  cat! 

"  A  cat  will  go  through  fire  and  water  for  vale- 
rian," said  Smith;  "  but  I  got  first  innings  this  morn- 
ing with  fish  and  milk!  I  had  recognized  the  im- 
prints under  the  trees  for  those  of  a  cat,  and  I  knew 
that  if  a  cat  had  been  released  here  it  would  still  be 
hiding  in  the  neighborhood,  probably  in  the  bushes. 
I  finally  located  a  cat,  sure  enough,  and  came  for  bait ! 
I  laid  my  trap,  for  the  animal  was  too  frightened  to 
be  approachable,  and  then  shot  it;  I  had  to.  That 


66     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

yellow  fiend  used  the  light  as  a  decoy.  The  branch 
which  killed  him  jutted  out  over  the  path  at  a  spot 
where  an  opening  in  the  foliage  above  allowed  some 
moon  rays  to  penetrate.  Directly  the  victim  stood 
beneath,  the  Chinaman  uttered  his  bird  cry;  the  one 
below  looked  up,  and  the  cat,  previously  held  silent 
and  helpless  in  the  leather  sack,  was  dropped  accu- 
rately upon  his  head!  " 

u  But  " —  I  was  growing  confused. 

Smith  stooped  lower. 

"The  cat's  claws  are  sheathed  now,"  he  said; 
"  but  if  you  could  examine  them  you  would  find  that 
they  are  coated  with  a  shining  black  substance.  Only 
Fu-Manchu  knows  what  that  substance  is,  Petrie° 
but  you  and  I  know  what  it  can  do !  " 


CHAPTER  VII 

ENTER  MR.  ABEL  SLATTIN 

"T  DON'T  blame  you!  "  rapped  Nayland  Smith. 

JL  "  Suppose  we  say,  then,  a  thousand  pounds  if 
you  show  us  the  present  hiding-place  of  Fu-Manchu, 
the  payment  to  be  in  no  way  subject  to  whether  we 
profit  by  your  information  or  not?  " 

Abel  Slattin  shrugged  his  shoulders,  racially,  and 
returned  to  the  armchair  which  he  had  just  quitted. 
He  reseated  himself,  placing  his  hat  and  cane  upon 
my  writing-table. 

"  A  little  agreement  in  black  and  white?  "  he  sug- 
gested smoothly. 

Smith  raised  himself  up  out  of  the  white  cane 
chair,  and,  bending  forward  over  a  corner  of  the 
table,  scribbled  busily  upon  a  sheet  of  notepaper 
with  my  fountain-pen. 

The  while  he  did  so,  I  covertly  studied  our  visitor. 
He  lay  back  in  the  armchair,  his  heavy  eyelids  low- 
ered deceptively.  He  was  a  thought  overdressed  — 
a  big  man,  dark-haired  and  well  groomed,  who  toyed 
with  a  monocle  most  unsuitable  to  his  type.  During 
the  preceding  conversation,  I  had  been  vaguely  sur- 
prised to  note  Mr.  Abel  Slattin's  marked  American 
accent. 

Sometimes,  when  Slattin  moved,  a  big  diamond 

67 


68     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

which  he  wore  upon  the  third  finger  of  his  right 
hand  glittered  magnificently.  There  was  a  sort  of 
bluish  tint  underlying  the  dusky  skin,  noticeable  even 
in  his  hands  but  proclaiming  itself  significantly  in  his 
puffy  face  and  especially  under  the  eyes.  I  diag- 
nosed a  laboring  valve  somewhere  in  the  heart  sys- 
tem. 

Nayland  Smith's  pen  scratched  on.  My  glance 
strayed  from  our  Semitic  caller  to  his  cane,  lying  upon 
the  red  leather  before  me.  It  was  of  most  unusual 
workmanship,  apparently  Indian,  being  made  of 
some  kind  of  dark  brown,  mottled  wood,  bearing  a 
marked  resemblance  to  a  snake's  skin;  and  the  top 
of  the  cane  was  carved  in  conformity,  to  represent  the 
head  of  what  I  took  to  be  a  puff-adder,  fragments  of 
stone,  or  beads,  being  inserted  to  represent  the  eyes, 
and  the  whole  thing  being  finished  with  an  artistic 
realism  almost  startling. 

When  Smith  had  tossed  the  written  page  to  Slattin, 
and  he,  having  read  it  with  an  appearance  of  careless- 
ness, had  folded  it  neatly  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket, 
I  said: 

"  You  have  a  curio  here?  " 

Our  visitor,  whose  dark  eyes  revealed  all  the  satis- 
faction which,  by  his  manner,  he  sought  to  conceal, 
nodded  and  took  up  the  cane  in  his  hand. 

"It  comes  from  Australia,  Doctor,"  he  replied; 
"  it's  aboriginal  work,  and  was  given  to  me  by  a 
client.  You  thought  it  was  Indian?  Everybody 
does.  It's  my  mascot." 


ENTER  MR.  ABEL  SLATTIN          69 

"Really?" 

"  It  is  indeed.  Its  former  owner  ascribed  magical 
powers  to  it!  In  fact,  I  believe  he  thought  that  it 
was  one  of  those  staffs  mentioned  in  biblical  his- 
tory—" 

"  Aaron's  rod?  "  suggested  Smith,  glancing  at  the 
cane. 

"  Something  of  the  sort,"  said  Slattin,  standing  up 
and  again  preparing  to  depart. 

"  You  will  'phone  us,  then?  "  asked  my  friend. 

"  You  will  hear  from  me  to-morrow,"  was  the 
reply. 

Smith  returned  to  the  cane  armchair,  and  Slattin, 
bowing  to  both  of  us,  made  his  way  to  the  door  as  I 
rang  for  the  girl  to  show  him  out. 

"  Considering  the  importance  of  his  proposal,"  I 
began,  as  the  door  closed,  "  you  hardly  received  our 
visitor  with  cordiality." 

"  I  hate  to  have  any  relations  with  him,"  answered 
my  friend;  "  but  we  must  not  be  squeamish  respecting 
our  instruments  in  dealing  with  Dr.  Fu-Manchu. 
Slattin  has  a  rotten  reputation  —  even  for  a  private 
inquiry  agent.  He  is  little  better  than  a  black- 
mailer— " 

"  How  do  you  know?  " 

"  Because  I  called  on  our  friend  Weymouth  at  the 
Yard  yesterday  and  looked  up  the  man's  record." 

"Whatever  for?" 

"  I  knew  that  he  was  concerning  himself,  for  some 
reason,  in  the  case.  Beyond  doubt  he  has  established 


70     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

some  sort  of  communication  with  the  Chinese  group; 
I  am  only  wondering — " 

"  You  don't  mean  — " 

'  Yes  —  I  do,  Petrie !  I  tell  you  he  is  unscrupu- 
lous enough  to  stoop  even  to  that." 

No  doubt,  Slattin  knew  that  this  gaunt,  eager-eyed 
Burmese  commissioner  was  vested  with  ultimate  au- 
thority in  his  quest  of  the  mighty  Chinaman  who  rep- 
resented things  unutterable,  whose  potentialities  for 
evil  were  boundless  as  his  genius,  who  personified  a 
secret  danger,  the  extent  and  nature  of  which  none 
of  us  truly  understood.  And,  learning  of  these 
things,  with  unerring  Semitic  instinct  he  had  sought 
an  opening  in  this  glittering  Rialto.  But  there  were 
two  bidders ! 

"  You  think  he  may  have  sunk  so  low  as  to  become 
a  creature  of  Fu-Manchu?  "  I  asked,  aghast. 

"  Exactly !  If  it  paid  him  well  I  do  not  doubt  that 
he  would  serve  that  master  as  readily  as  any  other. 
His  record  is  about  as  black  as  it  well  could  be. 
Slattin  is  of  course  an  assumed  name ;  he  was  known 
as  Lieutenant  Pepley  when  he  belonged  to  the  New 
York  Police,  and  he  was  kicked  out  of  the  service  for 
complicity  in  an  unsavory  Chinatown  case." 

"  Chinatown !  " 

"  Yes,  Petrie,  it  made  me  wonder,  too ;  and  we 
must  not  forget  that  he  is  undeniably  a  clever  scoun- 
drel." 

"  Shall  you  keep  any  appointment  which  he  may 
suggest?  " 


ENTER  MR.  ABEL  SLATTIN          71 

"  Undoubtedly.  But  I  shall  not  wait  until  to- 
morrow." 

"What!" 

"  I  propose  to  pay  a  little  informal  visit  to  Mr. 
Abel  Slattin,  to-night." 

"At  his  office?" 

"  No;  at  his  private  residence.  If,  as  I  more  than 
suspect,  his  object  is  to  draw  us  into  some  trap,  he 
will  probably  report  his  favorable  progress  to  his 
employer  to-night!  " 

"  Then  we  should  have  followed  him !  " 

Nayland  Smith  stood  up  and  divested  himself  of 
the  old  shooting-jacket. 

"  He  has  been  followed,  Petrie,"  he  replied,  with 
one  of  his  rare  smiles.  "  Two  C.  I.  D.  men  have 
been  watching  the  house  all  night!  " 

This  was  entirely  characteristic  of  my  friend's  far- 
seeing  methods. 

"  By  the  way,"  I  said,  "  you  saw  Eltham  this 
morning.  He  will  soon  be  convalescent.  Where, 
in  heaven's  name,  can  he  — " 

"  Don't  be  alarmed  on  his  behalf,  Petrie,"  inter- 
rupted Smith.  "  His  life  is  no  longer  in  danger." 

I  stared,  stupidly. 

"  No  longer  in  danger!  " 

"  He  received,  some  time  yesterday,  a  letter,  writ- 
ten in  Chinese,  upon  Chinese  paper,  and  enclosed  in 
an  ordinary  business  envelope,  having  a  typewritten 
address  and  bearing  a  London  postmark." 

"Well?" 


72     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  As  nearly  as  I  can  render  the  message  in  English, 
it  reads :  '  Although,  because  you  are  a  brave  man, 
you  would  not  betray  your  correspondent  in  China, 
he  has  been  discovered.  He  was  a  mandarin,  and  as 
I  cannot  write  the  name  of  a  traitor,  I  may  not  name 
him.  He  was  executed  four  days  ago.  I  salute  you 
and  pray  for  your  speedy  recovery.  Fu-Manchu.' ' 
"  Fu-Manchu !  But  it  is  almost  certainly  a  trap." 
"  On  the  contrary,  Petrie  —  Fu-Manchu  would 
not  have  written  in  Chinese  unless  he  were  sincere; 
and,  to  clear  all  doubt,  I  received  a  cable  this  morning 
reporting  that  the  Mandarin  Yen-Sun-Yat  was  assas- 
sinated in  his  own  garden,  in  Nan-Yang,  one  day 
last  week." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
DR.  FU-MANCHU  STRIKES 

TOGETHER  we  marched  down  the  slope  of  the 
quiet,  suburban  avenue;  to  take  pause  before  a 
small,  detached  house  displaying  the  hatchet  boards 
of  the  Estate  Agent.  Here  we  found  unkempt  laurel 
bushes  and  acacias  run  riot,  from  which  arboreal 
tangle  protruded  the  notice  — "  To  be  Let  or  Sold." 

Smith,  with  an  alert  glance  to  right  and  left, 
pushed  open  the  wooden  gate  and  drew  me  in  upon 
the  gravel  path.  Darkness  mantled  all ;  for  the  near- 
est street  lamp  was  fully  twenty  yards  beyond. 

From  the  miniature  jungle  bordering  the  path,  a 
soft  whistle  sounded. 

"  Is  that  Carter?  "  called  Smith,  sharply. 

A  shadowy  figure  uprose,  and  vaguely  I  made  it 
out  for  that  of  a  man  in  the  unobtrusive  blue  serge 
which  is  the  undress  uniform  of  the  Force. 

"  Well?  "  rapped  my  companion. 

"  Mr.  Slattin  returned  ten  minutes  ago,  sir,"  re- 
ported the  constable.  "  He  came  in  a  cab  which  he 
dismissed — " 

"  He  has  not  left  again?  " 

"  A  few  minutes  after  his  return,"  the  man  con 
tinued,  "  another  cab  came  up,  and  a  lady  alighted." 

73 


74     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"A  lady!" 

'*  The  same,  sir,  that  has  called  upon  him  before." 

"  Smith !  "  I  whispered,  plucking  at  his  arm  — "  is 
it—" 

He  half  turned,  nodding  his  head;  and  my  heart 
began  to  throb  foolishly.  For  now  the  manner  of 
Slattin's  campaign  suddenly  was  revealed  to  me.  In 
our  operations  against  the  Chinese  murder-group  two 
years  before,  we  had  had  an  ally  in  the  enemy's  camp 

—  Karamaneh,  the  beautiful  slave,  whose  presence  in 
those  happenings  of  the  past  had  colored  the  some- 
times sordid  drama  with  the  opulence  of  old  Arabia; 
who  had  seemed  a  fitting  figure  for  the  romances  of 
Bagdad  during  the  Caliphate  —  Karamaneh,  whom 
I  had  thought  sincere,  whose  inscrutable  Eastern  soul 
I  had  presumed,  fatuously,  to  have  laid  bare  and 
analyzed. 

Now,  once  again  she  was  plying  her  old  trade  of 
go-between;  professing  to  reveal  the  secrets  of  Dr. 
Fu-Manchu,  and  all  the  time  —  I  could  not  doubt  it 

—  inveigling  men  into  the  net  of  this  awful  fisher. 
Yesterday,  I  had  been  her  dupe;  yesterday,  I  had 

rejoiced  in  my  captivity.  To-day,  I  was  not  the  fa- 
vored one;  to-day  I  had  not  been  selected  recipient 
of  her  confidences  —  confidences  sweet,  seductive, 
deadly:  but  Abel  Slattin,  a  plausible  rogue,  who,  in 
justice,  should  be  immured  in  Sing  Sing,  was  chosen 
out,  was  enslaved  by  those  lovely  mysterious  eyes, 
was  taking  to  his  soul  the  lies  which  fell  from  those 
perfect  lips,  triumphant  in  a  conquest  that  must  end 


DR.  FU-MANCHU  STRIKES  75 

in  his  undoing;  deeming,  poor  fool,  that  for  love  of 
him  this  pearl  of  the  Orient  was  about  to  betray  her 
master,  to  resign  herself  a  prize  to  the  victor! 

Companioned  by  these  bitter  reflections,  I  had  lost 
the  remainder  of  the  conversation  between  Nayland 
Smith  and  the  police  officer;  now,  casting  off  the  suc- 
cubus  memory  which  threatened  to  obsess  me,  I  put 
forth  a  giant  mental  effort  to  purge  my  mind  of  this 
uncleanness,  and  became  again  an  active  participant 
in  the  campaign  against  the  Master  —  the  director 
of  all  things  noxious. 

Our  plans  being  evidently  complete,  Smith  seized 
my  arm,  and  I  found  myself  again  out  upon  the  ave- 
nue. He  led  me  across  the  road  and  into  the  gate  of 
a  house  almost  opposite.  From  the  fact  that  two 
upper  windows  were  illuminated,  I  adduced  that  the 
servants  were  retiring;  the  other  windows  were  in 
darkness,  except  for  one  on  the  ground  floor  to  the 
extreme  left  of  the  building,  through  the  lowered 
Venetian  blinds  whereof  streaks  of  light  shone  out. 

"  Slattin's  study !  "  whispered  Smith.  "  He  does 
not  anticipate  surveillance,  and  you  will  note  that  the 
window  is  wide  open !  " 

With  that  my  friend  crossed  the  strip  of  lawn, 
and  careless  of  the  fact  that  his  silhouette  must  have 
been  visible  to  any  one  passing  the  gate,  climbed 
carefully  up  the  artificial  rockery  intervening,  and 
crouched  upon  the  window-ledge  peering  into  the 
room. 

A  moment  I  hesitated,  fearful  that  if  I  followed, 


76     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

I  should  stumble  or  dislodge  some  of  the  larva  blocks 
of  which  the  rockery  was  composed. 

Then  I  heard  that  which  summoned  me  to  the  at- 
tempt, whatever  the  cost. 

Through  the  open  window  came  the  sound  of  a 
musical  voice  —  a  voice  possessing  a  haunting  accent, 
possessing  a  quality  which  struck  upon  my  heart  and 
set  it  quivering  as  though  it  were  a  gong  hung  in  my 
bosom. 

Karamaneh  was  speaking. 

Upon  hands  and  knees,  heedless  of  damage  to  my 
garments,  I  crawled  up  beside  Smith.  One  of  the 
laths  was  slightly  displaced  and  over  this  my  friend 
was  peering  in.  Crouching  close  beside  him,  I  peered 
in  also. 

I  saw  the  study  of  a  business  man,  with  its  files, 
neatly  arranged  works  of  reference,  roll-top  desk, 
and  Milner  safe.  Before  the  desk,  in  a  revolving 
chair,  sat  Slattin.  He  sat  half  turned  toward  the 
window,  leaning  back  and  smiling;  so  that  I  could 
note  the  gold  crown  which  preserved  the  lower  left 
molar.  In  an  armchair  by  the  window,  close,  very 
close,  and  sitting  with  her  back  to  me,  was  Kara- 
maneh ! 

She,  who,  in  my  dreams,  I  always  saw,  was  ever 
seeing,  in  an  Eastern  dress,  with  gold  bands  about 
her  white  ankles,  with  jewel-laden  fingers,  with  jewels 
in  her  hair,  wore  now  a  fashionable  costume  and  a 
hat  that  could  only  have  been  produced  in  Paris. 
Karamaneh  was  the  one  Oriental  woman  I  had  ever 


DR.  FU-MANCHU  STRIKES  77 

known  who  could  wear  European  clothes;  and  as  I 
watched  that  exquisite  profile,  I  thought  that  Delilah 
must  have  been  just  such  another  as  this,  that,  ex- 
cepting the  Empress  Poppaea,  history  has  record  of 
no  woman,  who,  looking  so  innocent,  was  yet  so  ut- 
terly vile. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  Slattin  was  saying,  and  through 
his  monocle  ogling  his  beautiful  visitor,  "  I  shall  be 
ready  for  you  to-morrow  night." 

I  felt  Smith  start  at  the  words. 

"  There  will  be  a  sufficient  number  of  men?  " 

Karamaneh  put  the  question  in  a  strangely  listless 
way. 

"  My  dear  little  girl,"  replied  Slattin,  rising  and 
standing  looking  down  at  her,  with  his  gold  tooth 
twinkling  in  the  lamplight,  "  there  will  be  a  whole 
division,  if  a  whole  division  is  necessary." 

He  sought  to  take  her  white  gloved  hand,  which 
rested  upon  the  chair  arm;  but  she  evaded  the  at- 
tempt with  seeming  artlessness,  and  stood  up.  Slat- 
tin  fixed  his  bold  gaze  upon  her. 

"  So  now,  give  me  my  orders,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  not  prepared  to  do  so,  yet,"  replied  the  girl, 
composedly;  "  but  now  that  I  know  you  are  ready,  I 
can  make  my  plans." 

She  glided  past  him  to  the  door,  avoiding  his  out- 
stretched arm  with  an  artless  art  which  made  me 
writhe ;  for  once  I  had  been  the  willing  victim  of  all 
these  wiles. 

"  But  — "  began  Slattin. 


78     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  I  will  ring  you  up  in  less  than  half  an  hour," 
said  Karamaneh;  and  without  further  ceremony,  she 
opened  the  door. 

I  still  had  my  eyes  glued  to  the  aperture  in  the 
blind,  when  Smith  began  tugging  at  my  arm. 

w  Down!  you  fool!  "  he  hissed  harshly — "  if  she 
sees  us,  all  is  lost!  " 

Realizing  this,  and  none  too  soon,  I  turned,  and 
rather  clumsily  followed  my  friend.  I  dislodged  a 
piece  of  granite  in  my  descent;  but,  fortunately,  Slat- 
tin  had  gone  out  into  the  hall  and  could  not  well  have 
heard  it. 

We  were  crouching  around  an  angle  of  the  house, 
when  a  flood  of  light  poured  down  the  steps,  and 
Karamaneh  rapidly  descended.  I  had  a  glimpse  of 
a  dark-faced  man  who  evidently  had  opened  the  door 
for  her,  then  all  my  thoughts  were  centered  upon  that 
graceful  figure  receding  from  me  in  the  direction  of 
the  avenue.  She  wore  a  loose  cloak,  and  I  saw  this 
fluttering  for  a  moment  against  the  white  gate  posts ; 
then  she  was  gone. 

Yet  Smith  did  not  move.  Detaining  me  with  his 
hand  he  crouched  there  against  a  quick-set  hedge; 
until,  from  a  spot  lower  down  the  hill,  we  heard  the 
start  of  the  cab  which  had  been  waiting.  Twenty 
seconds  elapsed,  and  from  some  other  distant  spot  a 
second  cab  started. 

"That's  Weymouth!"  snapped  Smith.  "With 
decent  luck,  we  should  know  Fu-Manchu's  hiding- 
place  before  Slattin  tells  us!  " 


DR.  FU-MANCHU  STRIKES  79 

"But—" 

"  Oh!  as  it  happens,  he's  apparently  playing  the 
game." —  In  the  half-light,  Smith  stared  at  me  sig- 
nificantly— "Which  makes  it  all  the  more  impor- 
tant," he  concluded,  "  that  we  should  not  rely  upon 
his  aid!" 

Those  grim  words  were  prophetic. 

My  companion  made  no  attempt  to  communicate 
with  the  detective  (or  detectives)  who  shared  our 
vigil;  we  took  up  a  position  close  under  the  lighted 
study  window  and  waited  —  waited. 

Once,  a  taxi-cab  labored  hideously  up  the  steep 
gradient  of  the  avenue  ...  It  was  gone.  The 
lights  at  the  upper  windows  above  us  became  extin- 
guished. A  policeman  tramped  past  the  gateway, 
casually  flashing  his  lamp  in  at  the  opening.  One  by 
one  the  illuminated  windows  in  other  houses  visible 
to  us  became  dull ;  then  lived  again  as  mirrors  for  the 
pallid  moon.  In  the  silence,  words  spoken  within 
the  study  were  clearly  audible;  and  we  heard  some 
one  —  presumably  the  man  who  had  opened  the  door 
—  inquire  if  his  services  would  be  wanted  again  that 
night. 

Smith  inclined  his  head  and  hung  over  me  in  a 
tense  attitude,  in  order  to  catch  Slattin's  reply. 

"  Yes,  Burke,"  it  came  — "  I  want  you  to  sit  up 
until  I  return ;  I  shall  be  going  out  shortly." 

Evidently  the  man  withdrew  at  that;  for  a  com- 
plete silence  followed  which  prevailed  for  fully  half 
an  hour.  I  sought  cautiously  to  move  my  cramped 


8o     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

limbs,  unlike  Smith,  who  seeming  to  have  sinews  of 
piano-wire,  crouched  beside  me  immovable,  untir- 
ingly. Then  loud  upon  the  stillness,  broke  the  stri- 
dent note  of  the  telephone  bell. 

I  started,  nervously,  clutching  at  Smith's  arm.  It 
felt  hard  as  iron  to  my  grip. 

"  Hullo !  "  I  heard  Slattin  call  — "  who  is  speak- 
ing? .  .  .  Yes,  yes!  This  is  Mr.  A.  S.  ...  I  am 
to  come  at  once  ?  .  .  .  I  know  where  —  yes !  .  .  . 
you  will  meet  me  there  ?  .  .  .  Good !  —  I  shall  be 
with  you  in  half  an  hour.  .  .  .  Good-by!  " 

Distinctly  I  heard  the  creak  of  the  revolving  office- 
chair  as  Slattin  rose ;  then  Smith  had  me  by  the  arm, 
and  we  were  flying  swiftly  away  from  the  door  to 
take  up  our  former  post  around  the  angle  of  the 
building.  This  gained: 

"  He's  going  to  his  death !  "  rapped  Smith  beside 
me;  "  but  Carter  has  a  cab  from  the  Yard  waiting  in 
the  nearest  rank.  We  shall  follow  to  see  where  he 
goes  —  for  it  is  possible  that  Weymouth  may  have 
been  thrown  off  the  scent;  then,  when  we  are  sure  of 
his  destination,  we  can  take  a  hand  in  the  game ! 
We  .  .  ." 

The  end  of  the  sentence  was  lost  to  me  —  drowned 
in  such  a  frightful  wave  of  sound  as  I  despair  to  de- 
scribe. It  began  with  a  high,  thin  scream,  which  was 
choked  off  staccato  fashion;  upon  it  followed  a  loud 
and  dreadful  cry  uttered  with  all  the  strength  of 
Slattin's  lungs  — 

"  Oh,  God!  "  he  cried,  and  again—"  Oh,  God!  " 


DR.  FU-MANCHU  STRIKES  81 

This  in  turn  merged  into  a  sort  of  hysterical  sob- 
bing. 

I  was  on  my  feet  now,  and  automatically  making 
for  the  door.  I  had  a  vague  impression  of  Nayland 
Smith's  face  beside  me,  the  eyes  glassy  with  a  fearful 
apprehension.  Then  the  door  was  flung  open,  and, 
in  the  bright  light  of  the  hall-way,  I  saw  Slattin 
standing  —  swaying  and  seemingly  fighting  with  the 
empty  air. 

"What  is  it?  For  God's  sake,  what  has  hap- 
pened!" reached  my  ears  dimly  —  and  the  man 
Burke  showed  behind  his  master.  White-faced  I 
saw  him  to  be ;  for  now  Smith  and  I  were  racing  up 
the  steps. 

Ere  we  could  reach  him,  Slattin,  uttering  another 
choking  cry,  pitched  forward  and  lay  half  across  the 
threshold. 

We  burst  into  the  hall,  where  Burke  stood  with 
both  his  hands  raised  dazedly  to  his  head.  I  could 
hear  the  sound  of  running  feet  upon  the  gravel,  and 
knew  that  Carter  was  coming  to  join  us. 

Burke,  a  heavy  man  with  a  lowering,  bull-dog  type 
of  face,  collapsed  onto  his  knees  beside  Slattin,  and 
began  softly  to  laugh  in  little  rising  peals. 

"  Drop  that!  "  snapped  Smith,  and  grasping  him 
by  the  shoulders,  he  sent  him  spinning  along  the  hall- 
way, where  he  sank  upon  the  bottom  step  of  the 
stairs,  to  sit  with  his  outstretched  fingers  extended 
before  his  face,  and  peering  at  us  grotesquely  through 
the  crevices. 


82     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

There  were  rustlings  and  subdued  cries  from  the 
upper  part  of  the  house.  Carter  came  in  out  of  the 
darkness,  carefully  stepping  over  the  recumbent  fig- 
ure; and  the  three  of  us  stood  there  in  the  lighted 
hall  looking  down  at  Slattin. 

"  Help  us  to  move  him  back,"  directed  Smith, 
tensely;  "  far  enough  to  close  the  door." 

Between  us  we  accomplished  this,  and  Carter  fas- 
tened the  door.  We  were  alone  with  the  shadow  of 
Fu-Manchu's  vengeance;  for  as  I  knelt  beside  the 
body  on  the  floor,  a  look  and  a  touch  sufficed  to  tell 
me  that  this  was  but  clay  from  which  the  spirit  had 
fled! 

Smith  met  my  glance  as  I  raised  my  head,  and  his 
teeth  came  together  with  a  loud  snap;  the  jaw  mus- 
cles stood  out  prominently  beneath  the  dark  skin; 
and  his  face  was  grimly  set  in  that  odd,  half-despair- 
ful expression  which  I  knew  so  well  but  which  boded 
so  ill  for  whomsoever  occasioned  it. 

"  Dead,  Petrie !  —  already?  " 

"  Lightning  could  have  done  the  work  no  better. 
Can  I  turn  him  over?  " 

Smith  nodded. 

Together  we  stooped  and  rolled  the  heavy  body 
on  its  back.  A  flood  of  whispers  came  sibilantly 
from  the  stairway.  Smith  spun  around  rapidly,  and 
glared  upon  the  group  of  half-dressed  servants. 

"  Return  to  your  rooms !  "  he  rapped,  imperiously; 
"  let  no  one  come  into  the  hall  without  my  orders." 

The  masterful  voice  had  its  usual  result;  there  was 


DR.  FU-MANCHU  STRIKES  83 

a  hurried  retreat  to  the  upper  landing.  Burke,  shak- 
ing like  a  man  with  an  ague,  sat  on  the  lower  step, 
pathetically  drumming  his  palms  upon  his  uplifted 
knees. 

"  I  warned  him,  I  warned  him !  "  he  mumbled  mo- 
notonously, "  I  warned  him,  oh,  I  warned  him !  " 

"  Stand  up !  "  shouted  Smith  — "  stand  up  and 
come  here !  " 

The  man,  with  his  frightened  eyes  turning  to  right 
and  left,  and  seeming  to  search  for  something  in  the 
shadows  about  him,  advanced  obediently. 

"  Have  you  a  flask?  "  demanded  Smith  of  Carter. 

The  detective  silently  administered  to  Burke  a  stiff 
restorative. 

"  Now,"  continued  Smith,  "  you,  Petrie,  will  want 
to  examine  him,  I  suppose?"  He  pointed  to  the 
body.  "  And  in  the  meantime  I  have  some  questions 
to  put  to  you,  my  man." 

He  clapped  his  hand  upon  Burke's  shoulder. 

"  My  God!  "  Burke  broke  out,  "  I  was  ten  yards 
from  him  when  it  happened !  " 

"  No  one  is  accusing  you,"  said  Smith,  less  harshly; 
"  but  since  you  were  the  only  witness,  it  is  by  your  aid 
that  we  hope  to  clear  the  matter  up." 

Exerting  a  gigantic  effort  to  regain  control  of  him- 
self, Burke  nodded,  watching  my  friend  with  a  child- 
like eagerness.  During  the  ensuing  conversation,  I 
examined  Slattin  for  marks  of  violence ;  and  of  what 
I  found,  more  anon. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  Smith,  "  you  say  that  you 


84     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

warned  him.  When  did  you  warn  him*  and  of 
what?" 

"  I  warned  him,  sir,  that  it  would  come  to  this  — " 

;{  That  what  would  come  to  this?  " 

"  His  dealings  with  the  Chinaman!  " 

"  He  had  dealings  with  Chinamen?  " 

"  He  accidentally  met  a  Chinaman  at  an  East  End 
gaming-house,  a  man  he  had  known  in  Frisco  —  a 
man  called  Singapore  Charlie  — " 

"  What!  Singapore  Charlie !  " 

'  Yes,  sir,  the  same  man  that  had  a  dope-shop,  two 
years  ago,  down  Ratcliffe  way — " 

"  There  was  a  fire  — " 

"  But  Singapore  Charlie  escaped,  sir." 

"  And  he  is  one  of  the  gang?  " 

"  He  is  one  of  what  we  used  to  call  in  New  York, 
the  Seven  Group." 

Smith  began  to  tug  at  the  lobe  of  his  left  ear,  re- 
flectively, as  I  saw  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye. 

"  The  Seven  Group !  "  he  mused.  "  That  is  sig- 
nificant. I  always  suspected  that  Dr.  Fu-Manchu 
and  the  notorious  Seven  Group  were  one  and  the 
same.  Go  on,  Burke." 

"  Well,  sir,"  the  man  continued,  more  calmly,  "  the 
lieutenant  — " 

"  The  lieutenant !  "  began  Smith ;  then :  "  Oh !  of 
course;  Slattin  used  to  be  a  police  lieutenant!  " 

"  Well,  sir,  he  —  Mr.  Slattin  —  had  a  sort  of 
hold  on  this  Singapore  Charlie,  and  two  years  ago, 
when  he  first  met  him,  he  thought  that  with  his  aid 


DR.  FU-MANCHU  STRIKES  85 

he  was  going  to  pull  off  the  biggest  thing  of  his 
life  — " 

"  Forestall  me,  in  fact?  " 

"  Yes,  sir;  but  you  got  in  first  with  the  big  raid  — 
and  spoiled  it." 

Smith  nodded  grimly,  glancing  at  the  Scotland 
Yard  man,  who  returned  his  nod  with  equal  grim- 
ness. 

"  A  couple  of  months  ago,"  resumed  Burke,  "  he 
met  Charlie  again  down  East,  and  the  Chinaman  in- 
troduced him  to  a  girl  —  some  sort  of  an  Egyptian 
girl." 

"  Go  on!  "  snapped  Smith — "  I  know  her." 

"  He  saw  her  a  good  many  times  —  and  she  came 
here  once  or  twice.  She  made  out  that  she  and  Sing- 
apore Charlie  were  prepared  to  give  away  the  boss 
of  the  Yellow  gang  — " 

"  For  a  price,  of  course?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Burke;  "  but  I  don't  know. 
I  only  know  that  I  warned  him." 

"H'm!"  muttered  Smith.  "And  now,  what 
took  place  to-night?  " 

"  He  had  an  appointment  here  with  the  girl,"  be- 
gan Burke  — 

"  I  know  all  that,"  interrupted  Smith.  "  I  merely 
want  to  know,  what  took  place  after  the  telephone 
call?" 

"  Well,  he  told  me  to  wait  up,  and  I  was  dozing  in 
the  next  room  to  the  study  —  the  dining-room  — 
when  the  'phone  bell  aroused  me.  I  heard  the  lieu- 


86     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

tenant  —  Mr.  Slattin,  coming  out,  and  I  ran  out  too, 
but  only  in  time  to  see  him  taking  his  hat  from  the 
rack—" 

"  But  he  wears  no  hat!  " 

"  He  never  got  it  off  the  peg!  Just  as  he  reached 
up  to  take  it,  he  gave  a  most  frightful  scream,  and 
turned  around  like  lightning  as  though  some  one  had 
attacked  him  from  behind !  " 

"  There  was  no  one  else  in  the  hall?  " 

"  No  one  at  all.  I  was  standing  down  there  out- 
side the  dining-room  just  by  the  stairs,  but  he  didn't 
turn  in  my  direction,  he  turned  and  looked  right  be- 
hind him  —  where  there  was  no  one  —  nothing. 
His  cries  were  frightful."  Burke's  voice  broke,  and 
he  shuddered  feverishly.  "  Then  he  made  a  rush 
for  the  front  door.  It  seemed  as  though  he  had  not 
seen  me.  He  stood  there  screaming;  but,  before  I 
could  reach  him,  he  fell.  .  .  ." 

Nayland  Smith  fixed  a  piercing  gaze  upon  Burke. 

"  Is  that  all  you  know?  "  he  demanded  slowly. 

"  As  God  is  my  judge,  sir,  that's  all  I  know,  and 
all  I  saw.  There  was  no  living  thing  near  him  when 
he  met  his  death." 

"  We  shall  see,"  muttered  Smith.  He  turned  to 
me  — "  What  killed  him?  "  he  asked,  shortly. 

"  Apparently,  a  minute  wound  on  the  left  wrist,"  I 
replied,  and,  stooping,  I  raised  the  already  cold  hand 
in  mine. 

A  tiny,  inflamed  wound  showed  on  the  wrist;  and 
a  certain  puffiness  was  becoming  observable  in  the 


DR.  FU-MANCHU  STRIKES  87 

injured  hand  and  arm.  Smith  bent  down  and  drew 
a  quick,  sibilant  breath. 

"  You  know  what  this  is,  Petrie?  "  he  cried. 

"  Certainly.  It  was  too  late  to  employ  a  ligature 
and  useless  to  inject  ammonia.  Death  was  prac- 
tically instantaneous.  His  heart  .  .  ." 

There  came  a  loud  knocking  and  ringing. 

"  Carter !  "  cried  Smith,  turning  to  the  detective, 
"  open  that  door  to  no  one  —  no  one.  Explain  who 
lam—" 

"  But  if  it  is  the  inspector? — " 

"  I  said,  open  the  door  to  no  one!  "  snapped  Smith. 
"  Burke,  stand  exactly  where  you  are !  Carter,  you 
can  speak  to  whoever  knocks,  through  the  letter-box. 
Petrie,  don't  move  for  your  life  1  It  may  be  here,  in 
the  hallway  1-W 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  CLIMBER 

OUR  search  of  the  house  of  Abel  Slattin  ceased 
only  with  the  coming  of  the  dawn,  and  yielded 
nothing  but  disappointment.  Failure  followed  upon 
failure;  for,  in  the  gray  light  of  the  morning,  our 
own  quest  concluded,  Inspector  Weymouth  returned 
to  report  that  the  girl,  Karamaneh,  had  thrown  him 
off  the  scent. 

Again  he  stood  before  me,  the  big,  burly  friend  of 
old  and  dreadful  days,  a  little  grayer  above  the  tem- 
ples, which  I  set  down  for  a  record  of  former  hor- 
rors, but  deliberate,  stoical,  thorough,  as  ever.  His 
blue  eyes  melted  in  the  old  generous  way  as  he  saw 
me,  and  he  gripped  my  hand  in  greeting. 

"  Once  again,"  he  said,  "  your  dark-eyed  friend 
has  been  too  clever  for  me,  Doctor.  But  the  track 
as  far  as  I  could  follow,  leads  to  the  old  spot.  In 
fact," — he  turned  to  Smith,  who,  grim-faced  and 
haggard,  looked  thoroughly  ill  in  that  gray  light  — 
"  I  believe  Fu-Manchu's  lair  is  somewhere  near 
the  former  opium-den  of  Shen-Yan  — '  Singapore 
Charlie.'  " 

Smith  nodded. 


THE  CLIMBER  89 

"  We  will  turn  our  attention  in  that  direction,"  he 
replied,  "  at  a  very  early  date." 

Inspector  Weymouth  looked  down  at  the  body  of 
Abel  Slattin. 

"  How  was  it  done?  "  he  asked  softly. 

"  Clumsily  for  Fu-Manchu,"  I  replied.  "  A  snake 
was  introduced  into  the  house  by  some  means  — " 

"  By  Karamaneh!  "  rapped  Smith. 

"  Very  possibly  by  Karamaneh,"  I  continued 
firmly.  u  The  thing  has  escaped  us." 

"  My  own  idea,"  said  Smith,  "  is  that  it  was  con- 
cealed about  his  clothing.  When  he  fell  by  the  open 
door  it  glided  out  of  the  house.  We  must  have  the 
garden  searched  thoroughly  by  daylight." 

"  He  " —  Weymouth  glanced  at  that  which  lay 
upon  the  floor — "  must  be  moved;  but  otherwise  we 
can  leave  the  place  untouched,  clear  out  the  servants, 
and  lock  the  house  up." 

"  I  have  already  given  orders  to  that  effect,"  an- 
swered Smith.  He  spoke  wearily  and  with  a  note  of 
conscious  defeat  in  his  voice.  "  Nothing  has  been 
disturbed;  " — he  swept  his  arm  around  comprehen- 
sively — "  papers  and  so  forth  you  can  examine  at 
leisure." 

Presently  we  quitted  that  house  upon  which  the 
fateful  Chinaman  had  set  his  seal,  as  the  suburb  was 
awakening  to  a  new  day.  The  clank  of  milk-cans 
was  my  final  impression  of  the  avenue  to  which  a 
dreadful  minister  of  death  had  come  at  the  bidding  of 
the  death  lord.  We  left  Inspector  Weymouth  in 


90     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

charge  and  returned  to  my  rooms,  scarcely  exchang- 
ing a  word  upon  the  way. 

Nayland  Smith,  ignoring  my  entreaties,  composed 
himself  for  slumber  in  the  white  cane  chair  in  my 
study.  About  noon  he  retired  to  the  bathroom,  and 
returning,  made  a  pretense  of  breakfast;  then  re- 
sumed his  seat  in  the  cane  armchair.  Carter  re- 
ported in  the  afternoon,  but  his  report  was  merely 
formal.  Returning  from  my  round  of  professional 
visits  at  half  past  five,  I  found  Nayland  Smith  in  the 
same  position;  and  so  the  day  waned  into  evening, 
and  dusk  fell  uneventfully. 

In  the  corner  of  the  big  room  by  the  empty  fire- 
place, Nayland  Smith  lay,  with  his  long,  lean  frame 
extended  in  the  white  cane  chair.  A  tumbler,  from 
which  two  straws  protruded,  stood  by  his  right  el- 
bow, and  a  perfect  continent  of  tobacco  smoke  lay 
between  us,  wafted  toward  the  door  by  the  draught 
from  an  open  window.  He  had  littered  the  hearth 
with  matches  and  tobacco  ash,  being  the  most  untidy 
smoker  I  have  ever  met;  and  save  for  his  frequent 
rapping-out  of  his  pipe  bowl  and  perpetual  striking 
of  matches,  he  had  shown  no  sign  of  activity  for  the 
past  hour.  Collarless  and  wearing  an  old  tweed 
jacket,  he  had  spent  the  evening,  as  he  had  spent  the 
day,  in  the  cane  chair,  only  quitting  it  for  some  ten 
minutes,  or  less,  to  toy  with  dinner. 

My  several  attempts  at  conversation  had  elicited 
nothing  but  growls;  therefore,  as  dusk  descended, 
having  dismissed  my  few  patients,  I  busied  myself 


THE  CLIMBER  91 

collating  my  notes  upon  the  renewed  activity  of  the 
Yellow  Doctor,  and  was  thus  engaged  when  the 
'phone  bell  disturbed  me.  It  was  Smith  who  was 
wanted,  however;  and  he  went  out  eagerly,  leaving 
me  to  my  task. 

At  the  end  of  a  lengthy  conversation,  he  returned 
from  the  'phone  and  began,  restlessly,  to  pace  the 
room.  I  made  a  pretense  of  continuing  my  labors, 
but  covertly  I  was  watching  him.  He  was  twitching 
at  the  lobe  of  his  left  ear,  and  his  face  was  a  study  in 
perplexity.  Abruptly  he  burst  out : 

"  I  shall  throw  the  thing  up,  Petrie !  Either  I  am 
growing  too  old  to  cope  with  such  an  adversary  as 
Fu-Manchu,  or  else  my  intellect  has  become  dull.  I 
cannot  seem  to  think  clearly  or  consistently.  For  the 
Doctor,  this  crime,  this  removal  of  Slattin,  is 
clumsy  —  unfinished.  There  are  two  explanations. 
Either  he,  too,  is  losing  his  old  cunning  or  he  has 
been  interrupted!  " 

"Interrupted!" 

"  Take  the  facts,  Petrie," —  Smith  clapped  his 
hands  upon  my  table  and  bent  down,  peering  into  my 
eyes — "is  it  characteristic  of  Fu-Manchu  to  kill  a 
man  by  the  direct  agency  of  a  snake  and  to  implicate 
one  of  his  own  damnable  servants  in  this  way?  " 

"  But  we  have  found  no  snake !  " 

"  Karamaneh  introduced  one  in  some  way.  Do 
you  doubt  it?  " 

"  Certainly  Karamaneh  visited  him  on  the  evening 
of  his  death,  but  you  must  be  perfectly  well  aware 


92     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

that  even  if  she  had  been  arrested,  no  jury  could  con- 
vict her." 

Smith  resumed  his  restless  pacings  up  and  down. 

"  You  are  very  useful  to  me,  Petrie,"  he  replied; 
"  as  a  counsel  for  the  defense  you  constantly  rectify 
my  errors  of  prejudice.  Yet  I  am  convinced  that  our 
presence  at  Slattin's  house  last  night  prevented  Fu- 
Manchu  from  finishing  off  this  little  matter  as  he  had 
designed  to  do." 

"  What  has  given  you  this  idea  ?  " 
'  Weymouth  is  responsible.     He  has  rung  me  up 
from  the  Yard.     The  constable  on  duty  at  the  house 
where  the  murder  was  committed,  reports  that  some 
one,  less  than  an  hour  ago,  attempted  to  break  in." 

"Break  in!" 

"  Ah!  you  are  interested?  /  thought  the  circum- 
stance illuminating,  also !  " 

"  Did  the  officer  see  this  person?  " 

"  No;  he  only  heard  him.  It  was  some  one  who 
endeavored  to  enter  by  the  bathroom  window,  which, 
I  am  told,  may  be  reached  fairly  easily  by  an  agile 
climber." 

"  The  attempt  did  not  succeed?  " 

"  No;  the  constable  interrupted,  but  failed  to  make 
a  capture  or  even  to  secure  a  glimpse  of  the  man." 

We  were  both  silent  for  some  moments ;  then : 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  We  must  not  let  Fu-Manchu's  servants  know," 
replied  Smith,  "  but  to-night  I  shall  conceal  myself  in 
Slattin's  house  and  remain  there  for  a  week  or  a  day 


THE  CLIMBER  93 

—  it  matters  not  how  long  —  until  that  attempt  is 
repeated.  Quite  obviously,  Petrie,  we  have  over- 
looked something  which  implicates  the  murderer  with 
the  murder !  In  short,  either  by  accident,  by  reason 
of  our  superior  vigilance,  or  by  the  clumsiness  of  his 
plans,  Fu-Manchu  for  once  in  an  otherwise  blameless 
career,  has  left  a  clue!  " 


IN  utter  darkness  we  groped  our  way  through  into 
the  hallway  of  Slattin's  house,  having  entered, 
stealthily,  from  the  rear;  for  Smith  had  selected  the 
study  as  a  suitable  base  of  operations.  We  reached 
it  without  mishap,  and  presently  I  found  myself 
seated  in  the  very  chair  which  Karamaneh  had  oc- 
cupied; my  companion  took  up  a  post  just  within  the 
widely  opened  door. 

So  we  commenced  our  ghostly  business  in  the  house 
of  the  murdered  man  —  a  house  from  which,  but  a 
few  hours  since,  his  body  had  been  removed.  This 
was  such  a  vigil  as  I  had  endured  once  before,  when, 
with  Nayland  Smith  and  another,  I  had  waited  for 
the  coming  of  one  of  Fu-Manchu's  death  agents. 

Of  all  the  sounds  which,  one  by  one,  now  began  to 
detach  themselves  from  the  silence,  there  was  a  par- 
ticular sound,  homely  enough  at  another  time,  which 
spoke  to  me  more  dreadfully  than  the  rest.  It  was 
the  ticking  of  the  clock  upon  the  mantelpiece;  and  I 
thought  how  this  sound  must  have  been  familiar  to 
Abel  Slattin,  how  it  must  have  formed  part  and 
parcel  of  his  life,  as  it  were,  and  how  it  went  on  now 
—  tick-tick-tick-tick  —  whilst  he,  for  whom  it  had 
ticked,  lay  unheeding  —  would  never  heed  it  more. 

94 


THE  CLIMBER  RETURNS  95 

As  I  grew  more  accustomed  to  the  gloom,  I  found 
myself  staring  at  his  office  chair;  once  I  found  myself 
expecting  Abel  Slattin  to  enter  the  room  and  occupy  it. 
There  was  a  little  China  Buddha  upon  the  bureau  in 
one  corner,  with  a  gilded  cap  upon  its  head,  and  as 
some  reflection  of  the  moonlight  sought  out  this  little 
cap,  my  thoughts  grotesquely  turned  upon  the  mur- 
dered man's  gold  tooth. 

Vague  creakings  from  within  the  house,  sounds  as 
though  of  stealthy  footsteps  upon  the  stair,  set  my 
nerves  tingling;  but  Nayland  Smith  gave  no  sign, 
and  I  knew  that  my  imagination  was  magnifying  these 
ordinary  night  sounds  out  of  all  proportion  to  their 
actual  significance.  Leaves  rustled  faintly  outside 
the  window  at  my  back:  I  construed  their  sibilant 
whispers  into  the  dreaded  name  —  Fu-Manchu  — 
Fu-Manchu  —  Fu-Manchu! 

So  wore  on  the  night;  and,  when  the  ticking  clock 
hollowly  boomed  the  hour  of  one,  I  almost  leaped 
out  of  my  chair,  so  highly  strung  were  my  nerves,  and 
so  appallingly  did  the  sudden  clangor  beat  upon  them. 
Smith,  like  a  man  of  stone,  showed  no  sign.  He  was 
capable  of  so  subduing  his  constitutionally  high-strung 
temperament,  at  times,  that  temporarily  he  became 
immune  from  human  dreads.  On  such  occasions  he 
would  be  icily  cool  amid  universal  panic;  but,  his  ob- 
ject accomplished,  I  have  seen  him  in  such  a  state  of 
collapse,  that  utter  nervous  exhaustion  is  the  only 
term  by  which  I  can  describe  it. 

Tick~tick-tick-tick  went  the  clock,  and,  with  my 


96     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

heart  still  thumping  noisily  in  my  breast,  I  began  to 
count  the  tickings ;  one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  and  so 
on  to  a  hundred,  and  from  one  hundred  to  many  hun- 
dreds. 

Then,  out  from  the  confusion  of  minor  noises,  a 
new,  arresting  sound  detached  itself.  I  ceased  my 
counting;  no  longer  I  noted  the  tick-tick  of  the  clock, 
nor  the  vague  creakings,  rustlings  and  whispers.  I 
saw  Smith,  shadowly,  raise  his  hand  in  warning  —  in 
needless  warning,  for  I  was  almost  holding  my  breath 
in  an  effort  of  acute  listening. 

From  high  up  in  the  house  this  new  sound  came  — 
from  above  the  topmost  room,  it  seemed,  up  under 
the  roof;  a  regular  squeaking,  oddly  familiar,  yet 
elusive.  Upon  it  followed  a  very  soft  and  muffled 
thud;  then  a  metallic  sound  as  of  a  rusty  hinge  in 
motion;  then  a  new  silence,  pregnant  with  a  thousand 
possibilities  more  eerie  than  any  clamor. 

My  mind  was  rapidly  at  work.  Lighting  the  top- 
most landing  of  the  house  was  a  sort  of  glazed  trap, 
evidently  set  in  the  floor  of  a  loft-like  place  extending 
over  the  entire  building.  Somewhere  in  the  red-tiled 
roof  above,  there  presumably  existed  a  corresponding 
skylight  or  lantern. 

So  I  argued;  and,  ere  I  had  come  to  any  proper  de- 
cision, another  sound,  more  intimate,  came  to  inter- 
rupt me. 

This  time  I  could  be  in  no  doubt;  some  one  was  lift- 
ing the  trap  above  the  stairhead  —  slowly,  cautiously, 
and  all  but  silently.  Yet  to  my  ears,  attuned  to  tri- 


THE  CLIMBER  RETURNS  97 

fling  disturbances,  the  trap  creaked  and  groaned 
noisily. 

Nayland  Smith  waved  to  me  to  take  a  stand  on 
the  other  side  of  the  opened  door  —  behind  it,  in 
fact,  where  I  should  be  concealed  from  the  view  of 
any  one  descending  the  stair. 

I  stood  up  and  crossed  the  floor  to  my  new  post. 

A  dull  thud  told  of  the  trap  fully  raised  and  resting 
upon  some  supporting  joist.  A  faint  rustling  (of  dis- 
carded garments,  I  told  myself)  spoke  to  my  newly 
awakened,  acute  perceptions,  of  the  visitor  preparing 
to  lower  himself  to  the  landing.  Followed  a  groan 
of  woodwork  submitted  to  sudden  strain  —  and  the 
unmistakable  pad  of  bare  feet  upon  the  linoleum  of 
the  top  corridor. 

I  knew  now  that  one  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu's  uncanny 
servants  had  gained  the  roof  of  the  house  by  some 
means,  had  broken  through  the  skylight  and  had  de- 
scended by  means  of  the  trap  beneath  on  to  the  land- 
ing. 

In  such  a  tensed-up  state  as  I  cannot  describe,  nor, 
at  this  hour  mentally  reconstruct,  I  waited  for  the 
creaking  of  the  stairs  which  should  tell  of  the  crea- 
ture's descent. 

I  was  disappointed.  Removed  scarce  a  yard  from 
me  as  he  was,  I  could  hear  Nayland  Smith's  soft, 
staccato  breathing;  but  my  eyes  were  all  for  the  dark- 
ened hallway,  for  the  smudgy  outline  of  the  stair-rail 
with  the  faint  patterning  in  the  background  which, 
alone,  indicated  the  wall. 


98     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

It  was  amid  an  utter  silence,  unheralded  by  even 
so  slight  a  sound  as  those  which  I  had  acquired  the 
power  of  detecting  —  that  I  saw  the  continuity  of  the 
smudgy  line  of  stair-rail  to  be  interrupted. 

A  dark  patch  showed  upon  it,  just  within  my  line  of 
sight,  invisible  to  Smith  on  the  other  side  of  the  door- 
way, and  some  ten  or  twelve  stairs  up. 

No  sound  reached  me,  but  the  dark  patch  vanished 
—  and  reappeared  three  feet  lower  down. 

Still  I  knew  that  this  phantom  approach  must  be 
unknown  to  my  companion  —  and  I  knew  that  it  was 
impossible  for  me  to  advise  him  of  it  unseen  by  the 
dreaded  visitor. 

A  third  time  the  dark  patch  —  the  hand  of  one 
who,  ghostly,  silent,  was  creeping  down  into  the  hall- 
way—  vanished  and  reappeared  on  a  level  with  my 
eyes.  Then  a  vague  shape  became  visible;  no  more 
than  a  blurr  upon  the  dim  design  of  the  wall-paper 
.  .  .  and  Nayland  Smith  got  his  first  sight  of  the 
stranger. 

The  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  boomed  out  the  half- 
hour. 

At  that,  such  was  my  state  (I  blush  to  relate  it)  I 
uttered  a  faint  cry ! 

It  ended  all  secrecy  —  that  hysterical  weakness  of 
mine.  It  might  have  frustrated  our  hopes;  that  it 
did  not  do  so  was  in  no  measure  due  to  me.  But  in 
a  sort  of  passionate  whirl,  the  ensuing  events  moved 
swiftly. 


THE  CLIMBER  RETURNS  99 

Smith  hesitated  not  one  instant.  With  a  panther- 
like  leap  he  hurled  himself  into  the  hall. 

"The  lights,  Petrie!"  he  cried— "the  lights! 
The  switch  is  near  the  street-door !  " 

I  clenched  my  fists  in  a  swift  effort  to  regain  control 
of  my  treacherous  nerves,  and,  bounding  past  Smith, 
and  past  the  foot  of  the  stair,  I  reached  out  my  hand 
to  the  switch,  the  situation  of  which,  fortunately,  I 
knew. 

Around  I  came,  in  response  to  a  shrill  cry  from  be- 
hind me  —  an  inhuman  cry,  less  a  cry  than  the  shriek 
of  some  enraged  animal.  .  .  . 

With  his  left  foot  upon  the  first  stair,  Nayland 
Smith  stood,  his  lean  body  bent  perilously  backward, 
his  arms  rigidly  thrust  out,  and  his  sinewy  fingers  grip- 
ping the  throat  of  an  almost  naked  man  —  a  man 
whose  brown  body  glistened  unctuously,  whose  shaven 
head  was  apish  low,  whose  bloodshot  eyes  were  the 
eyes  of  a  mad  dog!  His  teeth,  upper  and  lower, 
were  bared;  they  glistened,  they  gnashed,  and  a  froth 
was  on  his  lips.  With  both  his  hands,  he  clutched  a 
heavy  stick,  and  once  —  twice,  he  brought  it  down 
upon  Nayland  Smith's  head ! 

I  leaped  forward  to  my  friend's  aid ;  but  as  though 
the  blows  had  been  those  of  a  feather,  he  stood  like 
some  figure  of  archaic  statuary,  nor  for  an  instant 
relaxed  the  death  grip  which  he  had  upon  his  adver- 
sary's throat. 

Thrusting  my  way  up  the  stairs,  I  wrenched  the 


ioo    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

stick  from  the  hand  of  the  dacoit  —  for  in  this  glis- 
tening brown  man,  I  recognized  one  of  that  deadly 
brotherhood  who  hailed  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  their  Lord 
and  Master. 


I  cannot  dwell  upon  the  end  of  that  encounter;  I 
cannot  hope  to  make  acceptable  to  my  readers  an 
account  of  how  Nayland  Smith,  glassy-eyed,  and  with 
consciousness  ebbing  from  him  instant  by  instant, 
stood  there,  a  realization  of  Leighton's  "  Athlete," 
his  arms  rigid  as  iron  bars  even  after  Fu-Manchu's 
servant  hung  limply  in  that  frightful  grip. 

In  his  last  moments  of  consciousness,  with  the 
blood  from  his  wounded  head  trickling  down  into  his 
eyes,  he  pointed  to  the  stick  which  I  had  torn  from  the 
grip  of  the  dacoit,  and  which  I  still  held  in  my  hand. 

"  Not  Aaron's  rod,  Petrie !  "  he  gasped  hoarsely 
— "  the  rod  of  Moses!  —  Slattin's  stick!  " 

Even  in  upon  my  anxiety  for  my  friend,  amaze- 
ment intruded. 

"  But,"  I  began  —  and  turned  to  the  rack  in  which 
Slattin's  favorite  cane  at  that  moment  reposed  —  had 
reposed  at  the  time  of  his  death. 

Yes!  —  there  stood  Slattin's  cane;  we  had  not 
moved  it;  we  had  disturbed  nothing  in  that  stricken 
house;  there  it  stood,  in  company  with  an  umbrella 
and  a  malacca. 

I  glanced  at  the  cane  in  my  hand.  Surely  there 
could  not  be  two  such  in  the  world? 


THE  CLIMBER  RETURNS  101 

Smith  collapsed  on  the  floor  at  my  feet. 

"  Examine  the  one  in  the  rack,  Petrie,"  he  whis- 
pered, almost  inaudibly,  "  but  do  not  touch  it.  It 
may  not  be  yet.  .  .  ." 

I  propped  him  up  against  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and 
as  the  constable  began  knocking  violently  at  the  street 
door,  crossed  to  the  rack  and  lifted  out  the  replica  of 
the  cane  which  I  held  in  my  hand. 

A  faint  cry  from  Smith  —  and  as  if  it  had  been  a 
leprous  thing,  I  dropped  the  cane  instantly. 

"  Merciful  God!  "  I  groaned. 

Although,  in  every  other  particular,  it  corre- 
sponded with  that  which  I  held  —  which  I  had  taken 
from  the  dacoit  —  which  he  had  come  to  substitute 
for  the  cane  now  lying  upon  the  floor  —  in  one  dread- 
ful particular  it  differed. 

Up  to  the  snake's  head  it  was  an  accurate  copy; 
but  the  head  lived! 

Either  from  pain,  fear  or  starvation,  the  thing  con- 
fined in  the  hollow  tube  of  this  awful  duplicate  was 
become  torpid.  Otherwise,  no  power  on  earth  could 
have  saved  me  from  the  fate  of  Abel  Slattin;  for  the 
creature  was  an  Australian  death-adder. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  WHITE  PEACOCK 

NAYLAND  SMITH  wasted  no  time  In  pursuing 
the  plan  of  campaign  which  he  had  mentioned 
to  Inspector  Weymouth.  Less  than  forty-eight 
hours  after  quitting  the  house  of  the  murdered  Slat- 
tin,  I  found  myself  bound  along  Whitechapel  Road 
upon  strange  enough  business. 

A  very  fine  rain  was  falling,  which  rendered  it 
difficult  to  see  clearly  from  the  windows;  but  the 
weather  apparently  had  little  effect  upon  the  com- 
mercial activities  of  the  district.  The  cab  was 
threading  a  hazardous  way  through  the  cosmopolitan 
throng  crowding  the  street.  On  either  side  of  me 
extended  a  row  of  stalls,  seemingly  established  in 
opposition  to  the  more  legitimate  shops  upon  the 
inner  side  of  the  pavement. 

Jewish  hawkers,  many  of  them  in  their  shirt- 
sleeves, acclaimed  the  rarity  of  the  bargains  which 
they  had  to  offer;  and,  allowing  for  the  difference  of 
costume,  these  tireless  Israelites,  heedless  of  climatic 
conditions,  sweating  at  their  mongery,  might  well 
have  stood,  not  in  a  squalid  London  thoroughfare, 
but  in  an  equally  squalid  market-street  of  the  Orient. 

102 


THE  WHITE  PEACOCK  103 

They  offered  linen  and  fine  raiment;  from  footgear 
to  hair-oil  their  wares  ranged.  They  enlivened  their 
auctioneering  with  conjuring  tricks  and  witty  stories, 
selling  watches  by  the  aid  of  legerdemain,  and  fancy 
vests  by  grace  of  a  seasonable  anecdote. 

Poles,  Russians,  Serbs,  Roumanians,  Jews  of  Hun- 
gary, and  Italians  of  Whitechapel  mingled  in  the 
throng.  Near  East  and  Far  East  rubbed  shoulders. 
Pidgin  English  contested  with  Yiddish  for  the  owner- 
ship of  some  tawdry  article  offered  by  an  auctioneer 
whose  nationality  defied  conjecture,  save  that  always 
some  branch  of  his  ancestry  had  drawn  nourishment 
from  the  soil  of  Eternal  Judea. 

Some  wearing  mens'  caps,  some  with  shawls  thrown 
over  their  oily  locks,  and  some,  more  true  to  primitive 
instincts,  defying,  bare-headed,  the  unkindly  elements, 
bedraggled  women  —  more  often  than  not  burdened 
with  muffled  infants  —  crowded  the  pavements  and 
the  roadway,  thronged  about  the  stalls  like  white  ants 
about  some  choicer  carrion. 

And  the  fine  drizzling  rain  fell  upon  all  alike,  pat- 
tering upon  the  hood  of  the  taxi-cab,  trickling  down 
the  front  windows;  glistening  upon  the  unctuous  hair 
of  those  in  the  street  who  were  hatless;  dewing  the 
bare  arms  of  the  auctioneers,  and  dripping,  melan- 
choly, from  the  tarpaulin  coverings  of  the  stalls. 
Heedless  of  the  rain  above  and  of  the  mud  beneath, 
North,  South,  East,  and  West  mingled  their  cries, 
their  bids,  their  blandishments,  their  raillery,  mingled 
their  persons  in  that  joyless  throng. 


io4    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

Sometimes  a  yellow  face  showed  close  to  one  of 
the  streaming  windows;  sometimes  a  black-eyed,  pal- 
lid face,  but  never  a  face  wholly  sane  and  healthy. 
This  was  an  underworld  where  squalor  and  vice  went 
hand  in  hand  through  the  beautiless  streets,  a  melting- 
pot  of  the  world's  outcasts ;  this  was  the  shadowland, 
which  last  night  had  swallowed  up  Nayland  Smith. 

Ceaselessly  I  peered  to  right  and  left,  searching 
amid  that  rain-soaked  company  for  any  face  known  to 
me.  Whom  I  expected  to  find  there,  I  know  not, 
but  I  should  have  counted  it  no  matter  for  surprise 
had  I  detected  amid  that  ungracious  ugliness  the  beau- 
tiful face  of  Karamaneh,  the  Eastern  slave-girl,  the 
leering  yellow  face  of  a  Burmese  dacoit,  the  gaunt, 
bronzed  features  of  Nayland  Smith ;  a  hundred  times 
I  almost  believed  that  I  had  seen  the  ruddy  counte- 
nance of  Inspector  Weymouth,  and  once  (at  which 
instant  my  heart  seemed  to  stand  still)  I  suffered 
from  the  singular  delusion  that  the  oblique  green  eyes 
of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  peered  out  from  the  shadows  be- 
tween two  stalls. 

It  was  mere  phantasy,  of  course,  the  sick  imagin- 
ings of  a  mind  overwrought.  I  had  not  slept  and 
had  scarcely  tasted  food  for  more  than  thirty  hours; 
for,  following  up  a  faint  clue  supplied  by  Burke,  Slat- 
tin's  man,  and,  like  his  master,  an  ex-officer  of  New 
York  Police,  my  friend,  Nayland  Smith,  on  the  pre- 
vious evening  had  set  out  in  quest  of  some  obscene 
den  where  the  man  called  Shen-Yan  —  former  keeper 
of  an  opium-shop  —  was  now  said  to  be  in  hiding. 


THE  WHITE  PEACOCK  105 

Shen-Yan  we  knew  to  be  a  creature  of  the  Chinese 
doctor,  and  only  a  most  urgent  call  had  prevented 
me  from  joining  Smith  upon  this  promising,  though 
hazardous  expedition. 

At  any  rate,  Fate  willing  it  so,  he  had  gone  without 
me ;  and  now  —  although  Inspector  Weymouth,  as- 
sisted by  a  number  of  C.  I.  D.  men,  was  sweeping  the 
district  about  me  —  to  the  time  of  my  departure 
nothing  whatever  had  been  heard  of  Smith.  The  or- 
deal of  waiting  finally  had  proved  too  great  to  be 
borne.  With  no  definite  idea  of  what  I  proposed  to 
do,  I  had  thrown  myself  into  the  search,  filled  with 
such  dreadful  apprehensions  as  I  hope  never  again  to 
experience. 

I  did  not  know  the  exact  situation  of  the  place  to 
which  Smith  was  gone,  for  owing  to  the  urgent  case 
which  I  have  mentioned,  I  had  been  absent  at  the 
time  of  his  departure;  nor  could  Scotland  Yard  en- 
lighten me  upon  this  point.  Weymouth  was  in  charge 
of  the  case  —  under  Smith's  direction  —  and  since 
the  inspector  had  left  the  Yard,  early  that  morning, 
he  had  disappeared  as  completely  as  Smith,  no  report 
having  been  received  from  him. 

As  my  driver  turned  into  the  black  mouth  of  a 
narrow,  ill-lighted  street,  and  the  glare  and  clamor  of 
the  greater  thoroughfare  died  behind  me,  I  sank  into 
the  corner  of  the  cab  burdened  with  such  a  sense  of 
desolation  as  mercifully  comes  but  rarely. 

We  were  heading  now  for  that  strange  settlement 
off  the  West  India  Dock  Road,  which,  bounded  by 


io6    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

Limehouse  Causeway  and  Pennyfields,  and  narrowly 
confined  within  four  streets,  composes  an  unique 
Chinatown,  a  miniature  of  that  at  Liverpool,  and  of 
the  greater  one  in  San  Francisco.  Inspired  with  an 
idea  which  promised  hopefully,  I  raised  the  speaking- 
tube. 

"  Take  me  first  to  the  River  Police  Station,"  I 
directed;  "  along  Ratcliffe  Highway." 

The  man  turned  and  nodded  comprehendingly,  as 
I  could  see  through  the  wet  pane. 

Presently  we  swerved  to  the  right  and  into  an  even 
narrower  street.  This  inclined  in  an  easterly  direc- 
tion, and  proved  to  communicate  with  a  wide  thor- 
oughfare along  which  passed  brilliantly  lighted  elec- 
tric trams.  I  had  lost  all  sense  of  direction,  and 
when,  swinging  to  the  left  and  to  the  right  again,  I 
looked  through  the  window  and  perceived  that  we 
were  before  the  door  of  the  Police  Station,  I  was 
dully  surprised. 

In  quite  mechanical  fashion  I  entered  the  depot. 
Inspector  Ryman,  our  associate  in  one  of  the  darkest 
episodes  of  the  campaign  with  the  Yellow  Doctor 
two  years  before,  received  me  in  his  office. 

By  a  negative  shake  of  the  head,  he  answered  my 
unspoken  question. 

"  The  ten  o'clock  boat  is  lying  off  the  Stone  Stairs, 
Doctor,"  he  said,  "  and  co-operating  with  some  of 
the  Scotland  Yard  men  who  are  dragging  that  dis- 
trict — " 

I  shuddered  at  the  word  "  dragging  " ;  Ryman  had 


THE  WHITE  PEACOCK  107 

not  used  it  literally,  but  nevertheless  it  had  conjured 
up  a  dread  possibility  —  a  possibility  in  accordance 
with  the  methods  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu.  All  within 
space  of  an  instant  I  saw  the  tide  of  Limehouse 
Reach,  the  Thames  lapping  about  the  green-coated 
timbers  of  a  dock  pier ;  and  rising  —  falling  —  some- 
times disclosing  to  the  pallid  light  a  rigid  hand,  some- 
times a  horribly  bloated  face  —  I  saw  the  body  of 
Nayland  Smith  at  the  mercy  of  those  oily  waters. 
Ryman  continued: 

"  There  is  a  launch  out,  too,  patrolling  the  river- 
side from  here  to  Tilbury.  Another  lies  at  the 
breakwater  " —  he  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  shoul- 
der. "  Should  you  care  to  take  a  run  down  and  see 
for  yourself?  " 

"  No,  thanks,"  I  replied,  shaking  my  head. 
"  You  are  doing  all  that  can  be  done.  Can  you  give 
me  the  address  of  the  place  to  which  Mr.  Smith  went 
last  night?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Ryman;  "  I  thought  you  knew  it. 
You  remember  Shen-Yan's  place  —  by  Limehouse 
Basin?  Well,  further  east  —  east  of  the  Causeway, 
between  Gill  Street  and  Three  Colt  Street  —  is  a 
block  of  wooden  buildings.  You  recall  them?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.  "  Is  the  man  established  there 
again,  then?  " 

"  It  appears  so,  but,  although  you  have  evidently 
not  been  informed  of  the  fact,  Weymouth  raided  the 
establishment  in  the  early  hours  of  this  morning !  " 

"Well?  "I  cried. 


io8     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  Unfortunately  with  no  result,"  continued  the  in- 
spector. '  The  notorious  Shen-Yan  was  missing, 
and  although  there  is  no  real  doubt  that  the  place  is 
used  as  a  gaming-house,  not  a  particle  of  evidence  to 
that  effect  could  be  obtained.  Also  —  there  was  no 
sign  of  Mr.  Nayland  Smith,  and  no  sign  of  the  Amer- 
ican, Burke,  who  had  led  him  to  the  place." 

"  Is  it  certain  that  they  went  there  ?  " 
'  Two  C.  I.  D.  men  who  were  shadowing,  actually 
saw  the  pair  of  them  enter.     A  signal  had  been  ar- 
ranged, but  it  was  never  given;  and  at  about  half  past 
four,  the  place  was  raided." 

"  Surely  some  arrests  were  made?  " 

"  But  there  was  no  evidence !  "  cried  Ryman. 
"  Every  inch  of  the  rat-burrow  was  searched.  The 
Chinese  gentleman  who  posed  as  the  proprietor  of 
what  he  claimed  to  be  a  respectable  lodging-house 
offered  every  facility  to  the  police.  What  could  we 
do?" 

"  I  take  it  that  the  place  is  being  watched?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Ryman.  "  Both  from  the  river 
and  from  the  shore.  Oh !  they  are  not  there !  God 
knows  where  they  are,  but  they  are  not  there!  " 

I  stood  for  a  moment  in  silence,  endeavoring  to 
determine  my  course;  then,  telling  Ryman  that  I 
hoped  to  see  him  later,  I  walked  out  slowly  into  the 
rain  and  mist,  and  nodding  to  the  taxi-driver  to  pro- 
ceed to  our  original  destination,  I  re-entered  the  cab. 

As  we  moved  off,  the  lights  of  the  River  Police 
depot  were  swallowed  up  in  the  humid  murk,  am? 


THE  WHITE  PEACOCK  109 

again  I  found  myself  being  carried  through  the  dark- 
ness of  those  narrow  streets,  which,  like  a  maze,  hold 
secret  within  their  labyrinth  mysteries  as  great,  and 
at  least  as  foul,  as  that  of  Pasiphae. 

The  marketing  centers  I  had  left  far  behind  me ;  to 
my  right  stretched  the  broken  range  of  riverside 
buildings,  and  beyond  them  flowed  the  Thames,  a 
stream  more  heavily  burdened  with  secrets  than  ever 
was  Tiber  or  Tigris.  On  my  left,  occasional  flicker- 
ing lights  broke  through  the  mist,  for  the  most  part 
the  lights  of  taverns;  and  saving  these  rents  in  the 
veil,  the  darkness  was  punctuated  with  nothing  but  the 
faint  and  yellow  luminance  of  the  street  lamps. 

Ahead  was  a  black  mouth,  which  promised  to  swal- 
low me  up  as  it  had  swallowed  up  my  friend. 

In  short,  what  with  my  lowered  condition  and  con- 
sequent frame  of  mind,  and  what  with  the  traditions, 
for  me  inseparable  from  that  gloomy  quarter  of  Lon~ 
don,  I  was  in  the  grip  of  a  shadowy  menace  which  at 
any  moment  might  become  tangible  —  I  perceived,  in 
the  most  commonplace  objects,  the  yellow  hand  of  Dr. 
Fu-Manchu. 

When  the  cab  stopped  in  a  place  of  utter  darkness, 
I  aroused  myself  with  an  effort,  opened  the  door,  and 
stepped  out  into  the  mud  of  a  narrow  lane.  A  high 
brick  wall  frowned  upon  me  from  one  side,  and, 
dimly  perceptible,  there  towered  a  smoke  stack,  be- 
yond. On  my  right  uprose  the  side  of  a  wharf  build- 
ing, shadowly,  and  some  distance  ahead,  almost  ob- 
scured by  the  drizzling  rain,  a  solitary  lamp  flickered. 


no    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

I  turned  up  the  collar  of  my  raincoat,  shivering,  as 
much  at  the  prospect  as  from  physical  chill. 

"You  will  wait  here,"  I  said  to  the  man;  and, 
feeling  in  my  breast-pocket,  I  added:  "  If  you  hear 
the  note  of  a  whistle,  drive  on  and  rejoin  me." 

He  listened  attentively  and  with  a  certain  eager- 
ness. I  had  selected  him  that  night  for  the  reason 
that  he  had  driven  Smith  and  myself  on  previous  occa- 
sions and  had  proved  himself  a  man  of  intelligence. 
Transferring  a  Browning  pistol  from  my  hip-pocket 
to  that  of  my  raincoat,  I  trudged  on  into  the  mist. 

The  headlights  of  the  taxi  were  swallowed  up  be- 
hind me,  and  just  abreast  of  the  street  lamp  I  stood 
listening. 

Save  for  the  dismal  sound  of  rain,  and  the  trickling 
of  water  along  the  gutters,  all  about  me  was  silent. 
Sometimes  this  silence  would  be  broken  by  the  distant, 
muffled  note  of  a  steam  siren;  and  always,  forming  a 
sort  of  background  to  the  near  stillness,  was  the  re- 
mote din  of  riverside  activity. 

I  walked  on  to  the  corner  just  beyond  the  lamp. 
This  was  the  street  in  which  the  wooden  buildings 
were  situated.  I  had  expected  to  detect  some  evi- 
dences of  surveillances,  but  if  any  were  indeed  being 
observed,  the  fact  was  effectively  masked.  Not  a 
living  creature  was  visible,  peer  as  I  could. 

Plans,  I  had  none,  and  perceiving  that  the  street 
was  empty,  and  that  no  lights  showed  in  any  of  the 
windows,  I  passed  on,  only  to  find  that  I  had  entered 
a  cul-de-sac. 


THE  WHITE  PEACOCK  in 

A  rickety  gate  gave  access  to  a  descending  flight  of 
stone  steps,  the  bottom  invisible  in  the  denser  shad- 
ows of  an  archway,  beyond  which,  I  doubted  not,  ky 
the  river. 

Still  uninspired  by  any  definite  design,  I  tried  the 
gate  and  found  that  it  was  unlocked.  Like  some 
wandering  soul,  as  it  has  since  seemed  to  me,  I 
descended.  There  was  a  lamp  over  the  archway,  but 
the  glass  was  broken,  and  the  rain  apparently  had 
extinguished  the  light;  as  I  passed  under  it,  I  could 
hear  the  gas  whistling  from  the  burner. 

Continuing  my  way,  I  found  myself  upon  a  narrow 
wharf  with  the  Thames  flowing  gloomily  beneath  me. 
A  sort  of  fog  hung  over  the  river,  shutting  me  in. 
Then  came  an  incident. 

Suddenly,  quite  near,  there  arose  a  weird  and 
mournful  cry  —  a  cry  indescribable,  and  inexpressibly 
uncanny ! 

I  started  back  so  violently  that  how  I  escaped  fall- 
ing into  the  river  I  do  not  know  to  this  day.  That 
cry,  so  eerie  and  so  wholly  unexpected,  had  unnerved 
me;  and  realizing  the  nature  of  my  surroundings,  and 
the  folly  of  my  presence  alone  in  such  a  place,  I  began 
to  edge  back  toward  the  foot  of  the  steps,  away 
from  the  thing  that  cried;  when  —  a  great  white 
shape  uprose  like  a  phantom  before  me !  .  .  . 

There  are  few  men,  I  suppose,  whose  lives  have 
been  crowded  with  so  many  eerie  happenings  as  mine, 
but  this  phantom  thing  which  grew  out  of  the  dark- 
ness, which  seemed  about  to  envelope  me,  takes  rank 


ii2     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

in  my  memory  amongst  the  most  fearsome  appari- 
tions which  I  have  witnessed. 

I  knew  that  I  was  frozen  with  a  sort  of  super- 
natural terror.  I  stood  there  with  hands  clenched, 
staring  —  staring  —  at  that  white  shape,  which 
seemed  to  float. 

As  I  stared,  every  nerve  in  my  body  thrilling,  I 
distinguished  the  outline  of  the  phantom.  With  a 
subdued  cry,  I  stepped  forward.  A  new  sensation 
claimed  me.  In  that  one  stride  I  passed  from  the 
horrible  to  the  bizarre. 

I  found  myself  confronted  with  something  tan- 
gible, certainly,  but  something  whose  presence  in  that 
place  was  utterly  extravagant  —  could  only  be  recon- 
cilable in  the  dreams  of  an  opium  slave. 

Was  I  awake,  was  I  sane?  Awake  and  sane  be- 
yond doubt,  but  surely  moving,  not  in  the  purlieus  of 
Limehouse,  but  in  the  fantastic  realms  of  fairyland. 

Swooping,  with  open  arms,  I  rounded  up  in  an 
angle  against  the  building  and  gathered  in  this 
screaming  thing  which  had  inspired  in  me  so  keen  a 
terror. 

The  great,  ghostly  fan  was  closed  as  I  did  so,  and  I 
stumbled  back  toward  the  stair  with  my  struggling 
captive  tucked  under  my  arm;  I  mounted  into  one  of 
London's  darkest  slums,  carrying  a  beautiful  white 
peacock ! 


CHAPTER  XII 
DARK  EYES  LOOKED  INTO  MINE 

MY  adventure  had  done  nothing  to  relieve  the 
feeling  of  unreality  which  held  me  enthralled. 
Grasping  the  struggling  bird  firmly  by  the  body,  and 
having  the  long  white  tail  fluttering  a  yard  or  so  be- 
hind me,  I  returned  to  where  the  taxi  waited. 

"  Open  the  door !  "  I  said  to  the  man  —  who 
greeted  me  with  such  a  stare  of  amazement  that  I 
laughed  outright,  though  my  mirth  was  but  hollow. 

He  jumped  into  the  road  and  did  as  I  directed. 
Making  sure  that  both  windows  were  closed,  I  thrust 
the  peacock  into  the  cab  and  shut  the  door  upon  it. 

"  For  God's  sake,  sir !  "  began  the  driver  — 

"  It  has  probably  escaped  from  some  collector's 
place  on  the  riverside,"  I  explained,  "  but  one  never 
knows.  See  that  it  does  not  escape  again,  and  if  at 
the  end  of  an  hour,  as  arranged,  you  do  not  hear 
from  me,  take  it  back  with  you  to  the  River  Police 
Station." 

"  Right  you  are,  sir,"  said  the  man,  remounting  his 
seat.  "  It's  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  a  peacock  in 
Limehouse !  " 

It  was  the  first  time  /  had  seen  one,  and  the  inci- 
dent struck  me. as  being  more  than  odd;  it  gave  me  an 
idea,  and  a  new,  faint  hope.  I  returned  to  the  head 

"3 


n4    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

of  the  steps,  at  the  foot  of  which  I  had  met  with  this 
singular  experience,  and  gazed  up  at  the  dark  build- 
ing beneath  which  they  led.  Three  windows  were 
visible,  but  they  were  broken  and  neglected.  One, 
immediately  above  the  arch,  had  been  pasted  up  with 
brown  paper,  and  this  was  now  peeling  off  in  the  rain, 
a  little  stream  of  which  trickled  down  from  the  de- 
tached corner  to  drop,  drearily,  upon  the  stone  stairs 
beneath. 

Where  were  the  detectives?  I  could  only  assume 
that  they  had  directed  their  attention  elsewhere,  for 
had  the  place  not  been  utterly  deserted,  surely  I  had 
been  challenged. 

In  pursuit  of  my  new  idea,  I  again  descended  the 
steps.  The  persuasion  (shortly  to  be  verified)  that 
I  was  close  upon  the  secret  hold  of  the  Chinaman, 
grew  stronger,  unaccountably.  I  had  descended 
some  eight  steps,  and  was  at  the  darkest  part  of  the 
archway  or  tunnel,  when  confirmation  of  my  theories 
came  to  me. 

A  noose  settled  accurately  upon  my  shoulders,  was 
snatched  tightly  about  my  throat,  and  with  a  feeling 
of  insupportable  agony  at  the  base  of  my  skull,  and  a 
sudden  supreme  knowledge  that  I  was  being  strangled 
—  hanged  —  I  lost  consciousness ! 

How  long  I  remained  unconscious,  I  was  unable  to 
determine  at  the  time,  but  I  learned  later,  that  it  was 
for  no  more  than  half  an  hour;  at  any  rate,  recovery 
was  slow. 

The  first  sensation  to  return  to  me  was  a  sort  of 


DARK  EYES  LOOKED  INTO  MINE     115 

repetition  of  the  asphyxia.  The  blood  seemed  to  be 
forcing  itself  into  my  eyes  —  I  choked  —  I  felt  that 
my  end  was  come.  And,  raising  my  hands  to  my 
throat,  I  found  it  to  be  swollen  and  inflamed.  Then 
the  floor  upon  which  I  lay  seemed  to  be  rocking  like 
the  deck  of  a  ship,  and  I  glided  back  again  into  a 
place  of  darkness  and  forgetfulness. 

My  second  awakening  was  heralded  by  a  returning 
sense  of  smell;  for  I  became  conscious  of  a  faint,  ex- 
quisite perfume. 

It  brought  me  to  my  senses  as  nothing  else  could 
have  done,  and  I  sat  upright  with  a  hoarse  cry.  I 
could  have  distinguished  that  perfume  amid  a  thou- 
sand others,  could  have  marked  it  apart  from  the  rest 
in  a  scent  bazaar.  For  me  it  had  one  meaning,  and 
one  meaning  only  —  Karamaneh. 

She  was  near  to  me,  or  had  been  near  to  me  I 

And  in  the  first  moments  of  my  awakening,  I 
groped  about  in  the  darkness  blindly  seeking  her. 
Then  my  swollen  throat  and  throbbing  head,  together 
with  my  utter  inability  to  move  my  neck  even  slightly, 
reminded  me  of  the  facts  as  they  were.  I  knew  in 
that  bitter  moment  that  Karamaneh  was  no  longer 
my  friend;  but,  for  all  her  beauty  and  charm,  was  the 
most  heartless,  the  most  fiendish  creature  in  the  serv- 
ice of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu.  I  groaned  aloud  in  my  de- 
spair and  misery. 

Something  stirred,  near  to  me  in  the  room,  and  set 
my  nerves  creeping  with  a  new  apprehension.  I 
became  fully  alive  to  the  possibilities  of  the  darkness. 


n6     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

To  my  certain  knowledge,  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  at  this 
time  had  been  in  England  for  fully  three  months, 
which  meant  that  by  now  he  must  be  equipped  with  all 
the  instruments  of  destruction,  animate  and  inani- 
mate, which  dread  experience  had  taught  me  to  asso- 
ciate with  him. 

Now,  as  I  crouched  there  in  that  dark  apartment 
listening  for  a  repetition  of  the  sound,  I  scarcely 
dared  to  conjecture  what  might  have  occasioned  it, 
but  my  imagination  peopled  the  place  with  reptiles 
which  writhed  upon  the  floor,  with  tarantulas  and 
other  deadly  insects  which  crept  upon  the  walls,  which 
might  drop  upon  me  from  the  ceiling  at  any  moment. 

Then,  since  nothing  stirred  about  me,  I  ventured  to 
move,  turning  my  shoulders,  for  I  was  unable  to  move 
my  aching  head;  and  I  looked  in  the  direction  from 
which  a  faint,  very  faint,  light  proceeded. 

A  regular  tapping  sound  now  began  to  attract  my 
attention,  and,  having  turned  about,  I  perceived  that 
behind  me  was  a  broken  window,  in  places  patched 
with  brown  paper;  the  corner  of  one  sheet  of  paper 
was  detached,  and  the  rain  trickled  down  upon  it  with 
a  rhythmical  sound. 

In  a  flash  I  realized  that  I  lay  in  the  room  immedi- 
ately above  the  archway;  and  listening  intently,  I  per- 
ceived above  the  other  faint  sounds  of  the  night,  or 
thought  that  I  perceived,  the  hissing  of  the  gas  from 
the  extinguished  lamp-burner. 

Unsteadily  I  rose  to  my  feet,  but  found  myself 
swaying  like  a  drunken  man.  I  reached  out  for  sup- 


DARK  EYES  LOOKED  INTO  MINE     117 

port,  stumbling  in  the  direction  of  the  wall.  My  foot 
came  in  contact  with  something  that  lay  there,  and  I 
pitched  forward  and  fell.  .  .  . 

I  anticipated  a  crash  which  would  put  an  end  to  my 
hopes  of  escape,  but  my  fall  was  comparatively  noise- 
less —  for  I  fell  upon  the  body  of  a  man  who  lay 
bound  up  with  rope  close  against  the  wall ! 

A  moment  I  stayed  as  I  fell,  the  chest  of  my  fellow 
captive  rising  and  falling  beneath  me  as  he  breathed. 
Knowing  that  my  life  depended  upon  retaining  a  firm 
hold  upon  myself,  I  succeeded  in  overcoming  the  diz- 
ziness and  nausea  which  threatened  to  drown  my 
senses,  and,  moving  back  so  that  I  knelt  upon  the 
floor,  I  fumbled  in  my  pocket  for  the  electric  lamp 
which  I  had  placed  there.  My  raincoat  had  been  re- 
moved whilst  I  was  unconscious,  and  with  it  my  pistol, 
but  the  lamp  was  untouched. 

I  took  it  out,  pressed  the  button,  and  directed  the 
ray  upon  the  face  of  the  man  beside  me. 

It  was  Nayland  Smith ! 

Trussed  up  and  fastened  to  a  ring  in  the  wall  he 
lay,  having  a  cork  gag  strapped  so  tightly  between 
his  teeth  that  I  wondered  how  he  had  escaped  suffoca- 
tion. 

But,  although  a  grayish  pallor  showed  through  the 
tan  of  his  skin,  his  eyes  were  feverishly  bright,  and 
there,  as  I  knelt  beside  him,  I  thanked  heaven,  silently 
but  fervently. 

Then,  in  furious  haste,  I  set  to  work  to  remove  the 
gag.  It  *ras  most  ingeniously  secured  by  means  of 


n8     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

leather  straps  buckled  at  the  back  of  his  head,  but  I 
unfastened  these  without  much  difficulty,  and  he  spat 
out  the  gag,  uttering  an  exclamation  of  disgust. 

"Thank  God,  old  man!"  he  said,  huskily. 
'  Thank  God  that  you  are  alive !  I  saw  them  drag 
you  in,  and  I  thought  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  the  same  about  you  for 
more  than  twenty-four  hours,"  I  said,  reproachfully. 
"  Why  did  you  start  without  — " 

"  I  did  not  want  you  to  come,  Petrie,"  he  replied. 
"  I  had  a  sort  of  premonition.  You  see  it  was  real- 
ized; and  instead  of  being  as  helpless  as  I,  Fate  has 
made  you  the  instrument  of  my  release.  Quick! 
You  have  a  knife?  Good!"  The  old,  feverish 
energy  was  by  no  means  extinguished  in  him.  "  Cut 
the  ropes  about  my  wrists  and  ankles,  but  don't  other- 
wise disturb  them  — " 

I  set  to  work  eagerly. 

"  Now,"  Smith  continued,  "  put  that  filthy  gag  in 
place  again  —  but  you  need  not  strap  it  so  tightly ! 
Directly  they  find  that  you  are  alive,  they  will  treat 
you  the  same  —  you  understand  ?  She  has  been  here 
three  times  — " 

"Karamaneh?"  .  .  . 

"Sshf" 

I  heard  a  sound  like  the  opening  of  a  distant  door. 

"  Quick!  the  straps  of  the  gag!  "  whispered  Smith 
— "  and  pretend  to  recover  consciousness  just  as  they 
enter — " 

Clumsily  I  followed  his  directions,  for  my  fingers 


DARK  EYES  LOOKED  INTO  MINE     119 

were  none  too  steady,  replaced  the  lamp  in  my  pocket, 
and  threw  myself  upon  the  floor. 

Through  half-shut  eyes,  I  saw  the  door  open  and 
obtained  a  glimpse  of  a  desolate,  empty  passage  be- 
yond. On  the  threshold  stood  Karamaneh.  She 
held  in  her  hand  a  common  tin  oil  lamp  which  smoked 
and  flickered  with  every  movement,  filling  the  already 
none  too  cleanly  air  with  an  odor  of  burning  paraffin. 

She  personified  the  outre;  nothing  so  incongruous 
as  her  presence  in  that  place  could  well  be  imagined. 
She  was  dressed  as  I  remembered  once  to  have  seen 
her  two  years  before,  in  the  gauzy  silks  of  the  harem. 
There  were  pearls  glittering  like  great  tears  amid  the 
cloud  of  her  wonderful  hair.  She  wore  broad  gold 
bangles  upon  her  bare  arms,  and  her  fingers  were 
laden  with  jewelry.  A  heavy  girdle  swung  from  her 
hips,  defining  the  lines  of  her  slim  shape,  and  about 
one  white  ankle  was  a  gold  band. 

As  she  appeared  in  the  doorway  I  almost  entirely 
closed  my  eyes,  but  my  gaze  rested  fascinatedly  upon 
the  little  red  slippers  which  she  wore. 

Again  I  detected  the  exquisite,  elusive  perfume, 
which,  like  a  breath  of  musk,  spoke  of  the  Orient; 
and,  as  always,  it  played  havoc  with  my  reason,  seem- 
ing to  intoxicate  me  as  though  it  were  the  very  essence 
of  her  loveliness. 

But  I  had  a  part  to  play,  and  throwing  out  one 
clenched  hand  so  that  my  fist  struck  upon  the  floor,  I 
uttered  a  loud  groan,  and  made  as  if  to  rise  upon  my 
knees. 


120    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

One  quick  glimpse  I  had  of  her  wonderful  eyes, 
widely  opened  and  turned  upon  me  with  such  an  enig- 
matical expression  as  set  my  heart  leaping  wildly  — 
then,  stepping  back,  Karamaneh  placed  the  lamp 
upon  the  boards  of  the  passage  and  clapped  her 
hands. 

As  I  sank  upon  the  floor  in  assumed  exhaustion,  a 
Chinaman  with  a  perfectly  impassive  face,  and  a 
Burman,  whose  pock-marked,  evil  countenance  was 
set  in  an  apparently  habitual  leer,  came  running  into 
the  room  past  the  girl. 

With  a  hand  which  trembled  violently,  she  held  the 
lamp  whilst  the  two  yellow  ruffians  tied  me.  I 
groaned  and  struggled  feebly,  fixing  my  gaze  upon 
the  lamp-bearer  in  a  silent  reproach  which  was  by  no 
means  without  its  effect. 

She  lowered  her  eyes,  and  I  could  see  her  biting 
her  lip,  whilst  the  color  gradually  faded  from  her 
cheeks.  Then,  glancing  up  again  quickly,  and  still 
meeting  that  reproachful  stare,  she  turned  her  head 
aside  altogether,  and  rested  one  hand  upon  the  wall, 
swaying  slightly  as  she  did  so. 

It  was  a  singular  ordeal  for  more  than  one  of  that 
incongruous  group;  but  in  order  that  I  may  not  be 
charged  with  hypocrisy  or  with  seeking  to  hide  my 
own  folly,  I  confess,  here,  that  when  again  I  found 
myself  in  darkness,  my  heart  was  leaping  not  because 
of  the  success  of  my  strategy,  but  because  of  the  suc- 
cess of  that  reproachful  glance  which  I  had  directed 


DARK  EYES  LOOKED  INTO  MINE     121 

toward  the  lovely,  dark-eyed  Karamaneh,  toward  the 
faithless,  evil  Karamaneh !  So  much  for  myself. 

The  door  had  not  been  closed  ten  seconds,  ere 
Smith  again  was  spitting  out  the  gag,  swearing  under 
his  breath,  and  stretching  his  cramped  limbs  free 
from  their  binding.  Within  a  minute  from  the  time 
of  my  trussing,  I  was  a  free  man  again ;  save  that  look 
where  I  would  —  to  right,  to  left,  or  inward,  to  my 
own  conscience  —  two  dark  eyes  met  mine,  enigmat- 
ically. 

"  What  now?  "  I  whispered. 

"  Let  me  think,"  replied  Smith.  "  A  false  move 
would  destroy  us." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  ?  " 

"  Since  last  night." 

"IsFu-Manchu—  " 

"  Fu-Manchu  is  here!"  replied  Smith,  grimly  — 
"  and  not  only  Fu-Manchu,  but  —  another." 

"  Another !  " 

"  A  higher  than  Fu-Manchu,  apparently.  I  have 
an  idea  of  the  identity  of  this  person,  but  no  more 
than  an  idea.  Something  unusual  is  going  on,  Petrie ; 
otherwise  I  should  have  been  a  dead  man  twenty-four 
hours  ago.  Something  even  more  important  than  my 
death  engages  Fu-Manchu's  attention  —  and  this  can 
only  be  the  presence  of  the  mysterious  visitor.  Your 
seductive  friend,  Karamaneh,  is  arrayed  in  her  very 
becoming  national  costume  in  his  honor,  I  presume." 
He  stopped  abruptly;  then  added:  "  I  would  give 


122     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

five  hundred  pounds  for  a  glimpse  of  that  visitor's 
face !  " 

"  Is  Burke  — " 

"  God  knows  what  has  become  of  Burke,  Petrie ! 
We  were  both  caught  napping  in  the  establishment  of 
the  amiable  Shen-Yan,  where,  amid  a  very  mixed 
company  of  poker  players,  we  were  losing  our  money 
like  gentlemen." 

"ButWeymouth—  " 

"  Burke  and  I  had  both  been  neatly  sand-bagged, 
my  dear  Petrie,  and  removed  elsewhere,  some  hours 
before  Weymouth  raided  the  gaming-house.  Oh !  I 
don't  know  how  they  smuggled  us  away  with  the  po- 
lice watching  the  place ;  but  my  presence  here  is  suffi- 
cient evidence  of  the  fact.  Are  you  armed?  " 

"  No ;  my  pistol  was  in  my  raincoat,  which  is  miss- 
ing." 

In  the  dim  light  from  the  broken  window,  I  could 
see  Smith  tugging  reflectively  at  the  lobe  of  his  left 
ear. 

"  I  am  without  arms,  too,"  he  mused.  "  We 
might  escape  from  the  window  — " 

"  It's  a  long  drop !  " 

"  Ah !  I  imagined  so.  If  only  I  had  a  pistol,  or  a 
revolver  — M 

"What  should  you  do?" 

"  I  should  present  myself  before  the  important 
meeting,  which,  I  am  assured,  is  being  held  some- 
where in  this  building;  and  to-night  would  see  the  end 
of  mv  struggle  with  the  Fu-Manchu  grout)  —  the  end 


DARK  EYES  LOOKED  INTO  MINE     123 

of  the  whole  Yellow  menace!  For  not  only  is  Fu- 
Manchu  here,  Petrie,  with  all  his  gang  of  assassins, 
but  he  whom  I  believe  to  be  the  real  head  of  the  group 
—  a  certain  mandarin  —  is  here  also  1  " 


CHAPTER  XIH 
THE  SACRED  ORDER 

SMITH  stepped  quietly  across  the  room  and  tried 
the  door.  It  proved  to  be  unlocked,  and  an  in- 
stant later,  we  were  both  outside  in  the  passage. 
Coincident  with  our  arrival  there,  arose  a  sudden  out- 
cry from  some  place  at  the  westward  end.  A  high- 
pitched,  grating  voice,  in  which  guttural  notes  alter- 
nated with  a  serpent-like  hissing,  was  raised  in  anger. 

"Dr.  Fu-Manchu !  "  whispered  Smith,  grasping 
my  arm. 

Indeed,  it  was  the  unmistakable  voice  of  the 
Chinaman,  raised  hysterically  in  one  of  those  out- 
bursts which  in  the  past  I  had  diagnosed  as  symp- 
tomatic of  dangerous  mania. 

The  voice  rose  to  a  scream,  the  scream  of  some 
angry  animal  rather  than  anything  human.  Then, 
chokingly,  it  ceased.  Another  short  sharp  cry  fol- 
lowed —  but  not  in  the  voice  of  Fu-Manchu  —  a  dull 
groan,  and  the  sound  of  a  fall. 

With  Smith  still  grasping  my  wrist,  I  shrank  back 
into  the  doorway,  as  something  that  looked  in  the 
darkness  like  a  great  ball  of  fluff  came  rapidly  along 
the  passage  toward  me.  Just  at  my  feet  the  thing 
stopped  and  I  made  it  out  for  a  small  animal.  The 

124 


THE  SACRED  ORDER  125 

tiny,  gleaming  eyes  looked  up  at  me,  and,  chattering 
wickedly,  the  creature  bounded  past  and  was  lost 
from  view. 

It  was  Dr.  Fu-Manchu's  marmoset. 

Smith  dragged  me  back  into  the  room  which  we 
had  just  left.  As  he  partly  reclosed  the  door,  I  heard 
the  clapping  of  hands.  In  a  condition  of  most  dread- 
ful suspense,  we  waited;  until  a  new,  ominous  sound 
proclaimed  itself.  Some  heavy  body  was  being 
dragged  into  the  passage.  I  heard  the  opening  of  a 
trap.  Exclamations  in  guttural  voices  told  of  a 
heavy  task  in  progress;  there  was  a  great  straining 
and  creaking  —  whereupon  the  trap  was  softly  re- 
closed. 

Smith  bent  to  my  ear. 

"  Fu-Manchu  has  chastised  one  of  his  servants," 
he  whispered.  "  There  will  be  food  for  the  grap- 
pling-irons to-night !  " 

I  shuddered  violently,  for,  without  Smith's  words, 
I  knew  that  a  bloody  deed  had  been  done  in  that 
house  within  a  few  yards  of  where  we  stood. 

In  the  new  silence,  I  could  hear  the  drip,  drip,  drip 
of  the  rain  outside  the  window;  then  a  steam  siren 
hooted  dismally  upon  the  river,  and  I  thought  how 
the  screw  of  that  very  vessel,  even  as  we  listened, 
might  be  tearing  the  body  of  Fu-Manchu's  servant ! 

"  Have  you  some  one  waiting?  "  whispered  Smith, 
eagerly. 

"  How  long  was  I  insensible  ?  " 

"  About  half  an  hour." 


126    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

!'  Then  the  cabman  will  be  waiting." 

"  Have  you  a  whistle  with  you?  " 

I  felt  in  my  coat  pocket. 

"  Yes,"  I  reported. 

"  Good !     Then  we  will  take  a  chance." 

Again  we  slipped  out  into  the  passage  and  began  a 
stealthy  progress  to  the  west.  Ten  paces  amid  abso- 
lute darkness,  and  we  found  ourselves  abreast  of  a 
branch  corridor.  At  the  further  end,  through  a  kind 
of  little  window,  a  dim  light  shone. 

"  See  if  you  can  find  the  trap,"  whispered  Smith; 
"  light  your  lamp." 

I  directed  the  ray  of  the  pocket-lamp  upon  the 
floor,  and  there  at  my  feet  was  a  square  wooden  trap. 
As  I  stooped  to  examine  it,  I  glanced  back,  painfully, 
over  my  shoulder  —  and  saw  Nayland  Smith  tiptoe- 
ing away  from  me  along  the  passage  toward  the  light ! 

Inwardly  I  cursed  his  folly,  but  the  temptation  to 
peep  in  at  that  little  window  proved  too  strong  for 
me,  as  it  had  proved  too  strong  for  him. 

Fearful  that  some  board  would  creak  beneath  my 
tread,  I  followed;  and  side  by  side  we  two  crouched, 
looking  into  a  small  rectangular  room.  It  was  a 
bare  and  cheerless  apartment  with  unpapered  walls 
and  carpetless  floor.  A  table  and  a  chair  constituted 
the  sole  furniture. 

Seated  in  the  chair,  with  his  back  toward  us,  was 
a  portly  Chinaman  who  wore  a  yellow,  silken  robe. 
His  face,  it  was  impossible  to  see ;  but  he  was  beating 
his  fist  upon  the  table,  and  pouring  out  a  torrent  of 


THE  SACRED  ORDER  127 

words  in  a  thin,  piping  voice.  So  much  I  perceived 
at  a  glance ;  then,  into  view  at  the  distant  end  of  the 
room,  paced  a  tall,  high-shouldered  figure  —  a  fig- 
ure unforgettable,  at  once  imposing  and  dreadfu!5 
stately  and  sinister. 

With  the  long,  bony  hands  behind  him,  fingers 
twining  and  intertwining  serpentinely  about  the  han- 
dle of  a  little  fan,  and  with  the  pointed  chin  resting  on 
the  breast  of  the  yellow  robe,  so  that  the  light  from 
the  lamp  swinging  in  the  center  of  the  ceiling  gleamed 
upon  the  great,  domelike  brow,  this  tall  man  paced 
somberly  from  left  to  right. 

He  cast  a  sidelong,  venomous  glance  at  the  voluble 
speaker  out  of  half-shut  eyes;  in  the  act  they  seemed 
to  light  up  as  with  an  internal  luminance ;  momentarily 
they  sparkled  like  emeralds ;  then  their  brilliance  was 
filmed  over  as  in  the  eyes  of  a  bird  when  the  mem- 
brane is  lowered. 

My  blood  seemed  to  chill,  and  my  heart  to  double 
its  pulsations;  beside  me  Smith  was  breathing  more 
rapidly  than  usual.  I  knew  now  the  explanation  of 
the  feeling  which  had  claimed  me  when  first  I  had  de- 
scended the  stone  stairs.  I  knew  what  it  was  that 
hung  like  a  miasma  over  that  house.  It  was  the  aura, 
the  glamour,  which  radiated  from  this  wonderful  and 
evil  man  as  light  radiates  from  radium.  It  was  the 
vril,  the  force,  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu. 

I  began  to  move  away  from  the  window.  But 
Smith  held  my  wrist  as  in  a  vise.  He  was  listening 
raptly  to  the  torrential  speech  of  the  Chinaman  who 


iz8     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

sat  in  the  chair;  and  I  perceived  in  his  eyes  the  light 
of  a  sudden  comprehension. 

As  the  tall  figure  of  the  Chinese  doctor  came  pac- 
ing into  view  again,  Smith,  his  head  below  the  level 
of  the  window,  pushed  me  gently  along  the  passage. 

Regaining  the  site  of  the  trap,  he  whispered  to  me : 

"  We  owe  our  lives,  Petrie,  to  the  national  child- 
ishness of  the  Chinese !  A  race  of  ancestor  worship- 
ers is  capable  of  anything,  and  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  the 
dreadful  being  who  has  rained  terror  upon  Europe, 
stands  in  imminent  peril  of  disgrace  for  having  lost  a 
decoration." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Smith?  " 

"  I  mean  that  this  is  no  time  for  delay,  Petrie ! 
Here,  unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken,  lies  the  rope  by 
means  of  which  you  made  your  entrance.  It  shall  be 
the  means  of  your  exit.  Open  the  trap !  " 

Handing  the  lamp  to  Smith,  I  stooped  and  care- 
fully raised  the  trap-door.  At  which  moment,  a  sin- 
gular and  dramatic  thing  happened. 

A  softly  musical  voice  —  the  voice  of  my  dreams ! 
—  spoke. 

"  Not  that  way !     O  God,  not  that  way !  " 

In  my  surprise  and  confusion  I  all  but  let  the  trap 
fall,  but  I  retained  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  re- 
place it  gently.  Standing  upright,  I  turned  .  .  . 
and  there,  with  her  little  jeweled  hand  resting  upon 
Smith's  arm,  stood  Karamaneh ! 

In  all  my  experience  of  him,  I  had  never  seen  Nay- 
land  Smith  so  utterly  perplexed.  Between  anger, 


THE  SACRED  ORDER  129 

distrust  and  dismay,  he  wavered;  and  each  passing 
emotion  was  written  legibly  upon  the  lean  bronzed 
features.  Rigid  with  surprise,  he  stared  at  the  beau- 
tiful face  of  the  girl.  She,  although  her  hand  still 
rested  upon  Smith's  arm,  had  her  dark  eyes  turned 
upon  me  with  that  same  enigmatical  expression. 
Her  lips  were  slightly  parted,  and  her  breast  heaved 
tumultuously. 

This  ten  seconds  of  silence  in  which  we  three  stood 
looking  at  one  another  encompassed  the  whole  gamut 
of  human  emotion.  The  silence  was  broken  by 
Karamaneh. 

'  They  will  be  coming  back  that  way  1 "  she 
whispered,  bending  eagerly  toward  me.  (How,  in 
the  most  desperate  moments,  I  loved  to  listen  to  that 
odd,  musical  accent!)  "  Please,  if  you  would  save 
your  life,  and  spare  mine,  trust  me !  " —  She  suddenly 
clasped  her  hands  together  and  looked  up  into  my 
face,  passionately — "Trust  me  —  just  for  once  — 
and  I  will  show  you  the  way!  " 

Nayland  Smith  never  removed  his  gaze  from  her 
for  a  moment,  nor  did  he  stir. 

"  Oh !  "  she  whispered,  tremulously,  and  stamped 
one  little  red  slipper  upon  the  floor,  "  Won't  you 
heed  me  ?  Come,  or  it  will  be  too  late !  " 

I  glanced  anxiously  at  my  friend;  the  voice  of  Dr. 
Fu-Manchu,  now  raised  again  in  anger,  was  audible 
above  the  piping  tones  of  the  other  Chinaman.  And 
as  I  caught  Smith's  eye,  in  silent  query  —  the  trap 
at  my  feet  began  slowly  to  lift ! 


130    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

Karamaneh  stifled  a  little  sobbing  cry;  but  the 
warning  came  too  late.  A  hideous  yellow  face  with 
oblique  squinting  eyes,  appeared  in  the  aperture. 

I  found  myself  inert,  useless ;  I  could  neither  think 
nor  act.  Nayland  Smith,  however,  as  if  instinctively, 
delivered  a  pitiless  kick  at  the  head  protruding  above 
the  trap. 

A  sickening  crushing  sound,  with  a  sort  of  muffled 
snap,  spoke  of  a  broken  jaw-bone;  and  with  no  word 
or  cry,  the  Chinaman  fell.  As  the  trap  descended 
with  a  bang,  I  heard  the  thud  of  his  body  on  the 
stone  stairs  beneath. 

But  we  were  lost.  Karamaneh  fled  along  one  of 
the  passages  lightly  as  a  bird,  and  disappeared  — 
as  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  his  top  lip  c^rawn  up  above  his 
teeth  in  the  manner  of  an  angry  jackal,  appeared 
from  the  other. 

"This  way!"  cried  Smith,  in  a  voice  that  rose 
almost  to  a  shriek — "this  way!" — and  he  led 
toward  the  room  overhanging  the  steps. 

Off  we  dashed  with  panic  swiftness,  only  to  find 
that  this  retreat  also  was  cut  off.  Dimly  visible  in 
the  darkness  was  a  group  of  yellow  men,  and  de- 
spite the  gloom,  the  curved  blades  of  the  knives  which 
they  carried  glittered  menacingly.  The  passage  was 
full  of  dacoits! 

Smith  and  I  turned,  together.  The  trap  was  raised 
again,  and  the  Burman,  who  had  helped  to  tie  me, 
was  just  scrambling  up  beside  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  who 
stood  there  watching  us,  a  shadowy,  sinister  figure. 


THE  SACRED  ORDER  131 

"  The  game's  up,  Petrie !  "  muttered  Smith.  "  It 
has  been  a  long  fight,  but  Fu-Manchu  wins !  " 

"  Not  entirely!  "  I  cried. 

I  whipped  the  police  whistle  from  my  pocket,  and 
raised  it  to  my  lips;  but  brief  as  the  interval  had 
been,  the  dacoits  were  upon  me. 

A  sinewy  brown  arm  shot  over  my  shoulder,  and 
the  whistle  was  dashed  from  my  grasp.  Then  came 
a  whirl  of  maelstrom  fighting,  with  Smith  and  myself 
ever  sinking  lower  amid  a  whirlpool,  as  it  seemed, 
of  blood-lustful  eyes,  yellow  fangs,  and  gleaming 
blades. 

I  had  some  vague  idea  that  the  rasping  voice  of 
Fu-Manchu  broke  once  through  the  turmoil,  and 
when,  with  my  wrists  tied  behind  me,  I  emerged  from 
the  strife  to  find  myself  lying  beside  Smith  in  the 
passage,  I  could  only  assume  that  the  Chinaman  had 
.ordered  his  bloody  servants  to  take  us  alive;  for  sav- 
ing numerous  bruises  and  a  few  superficial  cuts,  I 
was  unwounded. 

The  place  was  utterly  deserted  again,  and  we  two 
panting  captives  found  ourselves  alone  with  Dr.  Fu- 
Manchu.  The  scene  was  unforgettable;  that  dimly 
lighted  passage,  its  extremities  masked  in  shadow, 
and  the  tall,  yellow-robed  figure  of  the  Satanic 
Chinaman  towering  over  us  where  we  lay. 

He  had  recovered  his  habitual  calm,  and  as  I 
peered  at  him  through  the  gloom,  I  was  impressed 
anew  with  the  tremendous  intellectual  force  of  the 
man.  He  had  the  brow  of  a  genius,  the  features  of 


132    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

a  born  ruler;  and  even  in  that  moment  I  could  find 
time  to  search  my  memory,  and  to  discover  that  the 
face,  saving  the  indescribable  evil  of  its  expression, 
was  identical  with  that  of  Seti,  the  mighty  Pharaoh 
who  lies  in  the  Cairo  Museum. 

Down  the  passage  came  leaping  and  gamboling 
the  doctor's  marmoset.  Uttering  its  shrill,  whis- 
tling cry,  it  leaped  onto  his  shoulder,  clutched  with  its 
tiny  fingers  at  the  scanty,  neutral-colored  hair  upon 
his  crown,  and  bent  forward,  peering  grotesquely  into 
that  still,  dreadful  face. 

Dr.  Fu-Manchu  stroked  the  little  creature;  and 
crooned  to  it,  as  a  mother  to  her  infant.  Only  this 
crooning,  and  the  labored  breathing  of  Smith  and 
myself,  broke  that  impressive  stillness. 

Suddenly  the  guttural  voice  began : 

"  You  come  at  an  opportune  time,  Mr.  Commis- 
sioner Nayland  Smith,  and  Dr.  Petrie;  at  a  time 
when  the  greatest  man  in  China  flatters  me  with  a 
visit.  In  my  absence  from  home,  a  tremendous 
honor  has  been  conferred  upon  me,  and,  in  the  hour 
of  this  supreme  honor,  dishonor  and  calamity  have 
befallen !  For  my  services  to  China  —  the  New 
China,  the  China  of  the  future  —  I  have  been  ad- 
mitted by  the  Sublime  Prince  to  the  Sacred  Order 
of  the  White  Peacock." 

Warming  to  his  discourse,  he  threw  wide  his  arms, 
hurling  the  chattering  marmoset  fully  five  yards 
along  the  corridor. 


THE  SACRED  ORDER  133 

"O  god  of  Cathay!"  he  cried,  sibilantly,  "in 
what  have  I  sinned  that  this  catastrophe  has  been 
visited  upon  my  head!  Learn,  my  two  dear  friends, 
that  the  sacred  white  peacock  brought  to  these  misty 
shores  for  my  undying  glory,  has  been  lost  to  me ! 
Death  is  the  penalty  of  such  a  sacrilege;  death  shall 
be  my  lot,  since  death  I  deserve." 

Covertly  Smith  nudged  me  with  his  elbow.  I 
knew  what  the  nudge  was  designed  to  convey;  he 
would  remind  me  of  his  words  —  anent  the  childish 
trifles  which  sway  the  life  of  intellectual  China. 

Personally,  I  was  amazed.  That  Fu-Manchu's 
anger,  grief,  sorrow  and  resignation  were  real,  no 
one  watching  him,  and  hearing  his  voice,  could  doubt. 
He  continued: 

"  By  one  deed,  and  one  deed  alone,  may  I  win  a 
lighter  punishment.  By  one  deed,  and  the  resigna- 
tion of  all  my  titles,  all  my  lands,  and  all  my  honors, 
may  I  merit  to  be  spared  to  my  work  —  which  has 
only  begun." 

I  knew  now  that  we  were  lost,  indeed ;  these  were 
confidences  which  our  graves  should  hold  inviolate ! 
He  suddenly  opened  fully  those  blazing  green  eyes 
and  directed  their  baneful  glare  upon  Nayland  Smith. 

;<  The  Director  of  the  Universe,"  he  continued, 
softly,  "  has  relented  toward  me.  To-night,  you 
die!  To-night,  the  arch-enemy  of  our  caste  shall 
be  no  more.  This  is  my  offering  —  the  price  of  re- 
demption .  .  ." 


134    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

My  mind  was  working  again,  and  actively.  I 
managed  to  grasp  the  stupendous  truth  —  and  the 
stupendous  possibility. 

Dr.  Fu-Manchu  was  in  the  act  of  clapping  his 
hands,  when  I  spoke. 

"Stop!"  I  cried. 

He  paused,  and  the  weird  film,  which  sometimes 
became  visible  in  his  eyes,  now  obscured  their  green- 
ness, and  lent  him  the  appearance  of  a  blind  man. 

"  Dr.  Petrie,"  he  said,  softly,  "  I  shall  always 
listen  to  you  with  respect." 

"  I  have  an  offer  to  make,"  I  continued,  seeking  to 
steady  my  voice.  "  Give  us  our  freedom,  and  I  will 
restore  your  shattered  honor  —  I  will  restore  the 
sacred  peacock!  " 

Dr.  Fu-Manchu  bent  forward  until  his  face  was  so 
close  to  mine  that  I  could  see  the  innumerable  lines 
which,  an  intricate  network,  covered  his  yellow  skin. 

"Speak!"  he  hissed.  "You  lift  up  my  heart 
from  a  dark  pit!  " 

"  I  can  restore  your  white  peacock,"  I  said;  "I, 
and  I  alone,  know  where  it  is!  " —  and  I  strove  not 
to  shrink  from  the  face  so  close  to  mine. 

Upright  shot  the  tall  figure;  high  above  his  head 
Fu-Manchu  threw  his  arms  —  and  a  light  of  exalta- 
tion gleamed  in  the  now  widely  opened,  catlike  eyes. 

"O  god!"  he  screamed,  frenziedly — "O  god 
of  the  Golden  Age !  like  a  phoenix  I  arise  from  the 
ashes  of  myself!"  He  turned  to  me.  "Quick I 
Quick!  make  your  bargain!  End  my  suspense!  " 


THE  SACRED  ORDER  135 

Smith  stared  at  me  like  a  man  dazed;  but,  ignor- 
ing him,  I  went  on: 

"  You  will  release  me,  now,  immediately.  In 
another  ten  minutes  it  will  be  too  late;  my  friend 
will  remain.  One  of  your  —  servants  —  can  accom- 
pany me,  and  give  the  signal  when  I  return  with  the 
peacock.  Mr.  Nayland  Smith  and  yourself,  or  an- 
other, will  join  me  at  the  corner  of  the  street  where 
the  raid  took  place  last  night.  We  shall  then  give 
you  ten  minutes'  grace,  after  which  we  shall  take 
whatever  steps  we  choose." 

"Agreed!"  cried  Fu-Manchu.  "I  ask  but  one 
thing  from  an  Englishman;  your  word  of  honor?  " 

"  I  give  it." 

"  I,  also,"  said  Smith,  hoarsely. 

Ten  minutes  later,  Nayland  Smith  and  I,  standing 
beside  the  cab,  whose  lights  gleamed  yellowly 
through  the  mist,  exchanged  a  struggling,  frightened 
bird  for  our  lives  —  capitulated  with  the  enemy  of 
the  white  race. 

With  characteristic  audacity — and  characteristic 
trust  in  the  British  sense  of  honor  —  Dr.  Fu-Manchu 
came  in  person  with  Nayland  Smith,  in  response  to 
the  wailing  signal  of  the  dacoit  who  had  accompanied 
me.  No  word  was  spoken,  save  that  the  cabman 
suppressed  a  curse  of  amazement;  and  the  China- 
man, his  sinister  servant  at  his  elbow,  bowed  low  — 
and  left  us,  surely  to  the  mocking  laughter  of  the 
gods  I 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  COUGHING  HORROR 

I  LEAPED  up  in  bed  with  a  great  start. 
My  sleep  was  troubled  often  enough  in  these 
days,  which  immediately  followed  our  almost  mirac- 
ulous escape  from  the  den  of  Fu-Manchu;  and  now, 
as  I  crouched  there,  nerves  aquiver  —  listening  — 
listening — I  could  not  be  sure  if  this  dank  panic 
which  possessed  me  had  its  origin  in  nightmare  or 
in  something  else. 

Surely  a  scream,  a  choking  cry  for  help,  had 
reached  my  ears;  but  now,  almost  holding  my  breath 
in  that  sort  of  nervous  tensity  peculiar  to  one  aroused 
thus,  I  listened,  and  the  silence  seemed  complete. 
Perhaps  I  had  been  dreaming  .  .  . 

"Help!  Petrie I  #<?//>/  .  .  ." 

It  was  Nayland  Smith  in  the  room  above  me ! 

My  doubts  were  dissolved;  this  was  no  trick  of 
an  imagination  disordered.  Some  dreadful  menace 
threatened  my  friend.  Not  delaying  even  to  snatch 
my  dressing-gown,  I  rushed  out  on  to  the  landing,  up 
the  stairs,  bare-footed  as  I  was,  threw  open  the  door 
of  Smith's  room  and  literally  hurled  myself  in. 

Those  cries  had  been  the  cries  of  one  assailed,  had 
136 


THE  COUGHING  HORROR         137 

fieen  uttered,  I  judged,  in  the  brief  interval  of  a  life 
and  death  struggle;  had  been  choked  off  ... 

A  certain  amount  of  moonlight  found  access  to  the 
room,  without  spreading  so  far  as  the  bed  in  which 
my  friend  lay.  But  at  the  moment  of  my  headlong 
entrance,  and  before  I  had  switched  on  the  light,  my 
gaze  automatically  was  directed  to  the  pale  moon- 
beam streaming  through  the  window  and  down  on 
to  one  corner  of  the  sheep-skin  rug  beside  the  bed. 

There  came  a  sound  of  faint  and  muffled  coughing. 

What  with  my  recent  awakening  and  the  panic  at 
my  heart,  I  could  not  claim  that  my  vision  was  true ; 
but  across  this  moonbeam  passed  a  sort  of  gray 
streak,  for  all  the  world  as  though  some  long  thin 
shape  had  been  withdrawn,  snakelike,  from  the 
room,  through  the  open  window  .  .  .  From  some- 
where outside  the  house,  and  below,  I  heard  the 
cough  again,  followed  by  a  sharp  cracking  sound 
like  the  lashing  of  a  whip. 

I  depressed  the  switch,  flooding  the  room  with 
light,  and  as  I  leaped  forward  to  the  bed  a  word  pic- 
ture of  what  I  had  seen  formed  in  my  mind;  and  I 
found  that  I  was  thinking  of  a  gray  feather  boa. 

"Smith!"  I  cried  (my  voice  seemed  to  pitch 
itself,  unwilled,  in  a  very  high  key) ,  "  Smith,  old 
man!" 

He  made  no  reply,  and  a  sudden,  sorrowful  fear 
clutched  at  my  heart-strings.  He  was  lying  half  out 
of  bed  flat  upon  his  back,  his  head  at  a  dreadful 
angle  with  his  body.  As  I  bent  over  him  and  seized 


138     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

him  by  the  shoulders,  I  could  see  the  whites  of  his 
eyes.  His  arms  hung  limply,  and  his  fingers  touched 
the  carpet. 

"My  God!"  I  whispered — "what  has  hap- 
pened? " 

I  heaved  him  back  onto  the  pillow,  and  looked 
anxiously  into  his  face.  Habitually  gaunt,  the  flesh 
so  refined  away  by  the  consuming  nervous  energy  of 
the  man  as  to  reveal  the  cheekbones  in  sharp  promi- 
nence, he  now  looked  truly  ghastly.  His  skin  was  so 
sunbaked  as  to  have  changed  constitutionally;  noth- 
ing could  ever  eradicate  that  tan.  But  to-night  a 
fearful  grayness  was  mingled  with  the  brown,  his 
lips  were  purple  .  .  .  and  there  were  marks  of 
strangulation  upon  the  lean  throat  —  ever  darken- 
ing weals  made  by  clutching  fingers. 

He  began  to  breathe  stentoriously  and  convul- 
sively, inhalation  being  accompanied  by  a  significant 
gurgling  in  the  throat.  But  now  my  calm  was  re- 
stored in  face  of  a  situation  which  called  for  profes- 
sional attention. 

I  aided  my  friend's  labored  respirations  by  the 
usual  means,  setting  to  work  vigorously;  so  that  pres- 
ently he  began  to  clutch  at  his  inflamed  throat  which 
that  murderous  pressure  had  threatened  to  close. 

I  could  hear  sounds  of  movement  about  the  house, 
showing  that  not  I  alone  had  been  awakened  by  those 
hoarse  screams. 

"  It's  all  right,  old  man,"  I  said,  bending  over 
him;  "  brace  up!  " 


THE  COUGHING  HORROR         139 

He  opened  his  eyes  — they  looked  bleared  and 
bloodshot  —  and  gave  me  a  quick  glance  of  recogni- 
tion. 

"It's  all  right,  Smith!"  I  said— "no!  don't  sit 
up;  lie  there  for  a  moment." 

I  ran  across  to  the  dressing-table,  whereon  I  per- 
ceived his  flask  to  lie,  and  mixed  him  a  weak  stim- 
ulant with  which  I  returned  to  the  bed. 

As  I  bent  over  him  again,  my  housekeeper  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway,  pale  and  wide-eyed. 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  alarm,"  I  said  over  my 
shoulder;  "  Mr.  Smith's  nerves  are  overwrought  and 
he  was  awakened  by  some  disturbing  dream.  You 
can  return  to  bed,  Mrs.  Newsome." 

Nayland  Smith  seemed  to  experience  much  diffi- 
culty in  swallowing  the  contents  of  the  tumbler  which 
I  held  to  his  lips ;  and,  from  the  way  in  which  he  fin- 
gered the  swollen  glands,  I  could  see  that  his  throat, 
which  I  had  vigorously  massaged,  was  occasioning 
him  great  pain.  But  the  danger  was  past,  and  al- 
ready that  glassy  look  was  disappearing  from  his 
eyes,  nor  did  they  protrude  so  unnaturally. 

"  God,  Petrie !  "  he  whispered,  u  that  was  a  near 
shave !  I  haven't  the  strength  of  a  kitten  1  " 

"The  weakness  will  pass  off,"  I  replied;  "there 
will  be  no  collapse,  now.  A  little  more  fresh 
air  .  .  ." 

I  stood  up,  glancing  at  the  windows,  then  back  at 
Smith,  who  forced  a  wry  smile  in  answer  to  my  look. 

"  Couldn't  be  done,  Petrie,"  he  said,  huskily. 


140    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

His  words  referred  to  the  state  of  the  windows. 
Although  the  night  was  oppressively  hot,  these  were 
only  opened  some  four  inches  at  top  and  bottom. 
Further  opening  was  impossible  because  of  iron 
brackets  screwed  firmly  into  the  casements  which  pre- 
vented the  windows  being  raised  or  lowered  further. 

It  was  a  precaution  adopted  after  long  experience 
of  the  servants  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu. 

Now,  as  I  stood  looking  from  the  half-strangled 
man  upon  the  bed  to  those  screwed-up  windows,  the 
fact  came  home  to  my  mind  that  this  precaution  had 
proved  futile.  I  thought  of  the  thing  which  I  had 
likened  to  a  feather  boa ;  and  I  looked  at  the  swollen 
weals  made  by  clutching  fingers  upon  the  throat  of 
Nayland  Smith. 

The  bed  stood  fully  four  feet  from  the  nearest 
window. 

I  suppose  the  question  was  written  in  my  face ;  for, 
as  I  turned  again  to  Smith,  who,  having  struggled  up- 
right, was  still  fingering  his  injured  throat  ruefully: 

"  God  only  knows,  Petrie!  "  he  said;  "  no  human 
arm  could  have  reached  me  .  .  ." 

For  us,  the  night  was  ended  so  far  as  sleep  was 
concerned.  Arrayed  in  his  dressing-gown,  Smith 
sat  in  the  white  cane  chair  in  my  study  with  a  glass 
of  brandy-and-water  beside  him,  and  (despite  my 
official  prohibition)  with  the  cracked  briar  which  had 
sent  up  its  incense  in  many  strange  and  dark  places 
of  the  East  and  which  yet  survived  to  perfume  these 
prosy  rooms  in  suburban  London,  steaming  between 


THE  COUGHING  HORROR          141 

his  teeth.  I  stood  with  my  elbow  resting  upon  the 
mantelpiece  looking  down  at  him  where  he  sat. 

"By  God!  Petrie,"  he  said,  yet  again,  with  his 
fingers  straying  gently  over  the  surface  of  his  throat, 
"  that  was  a  narrow  shave  —  a  damned  narrow 
shave!  " 

"  Narrower  than  perhaps  you  appreciate,  old 
man,"  I  replied.  "  You  were  a  most  unusual  shade 
of  blue  when  I  found  you  .  .  ." 

"  I  managed,"  said  Smith  evenly,  "  to  tear  those 
clutching  fingers  away  for  a  moment  and  to  give  a 
cry  for  help.  It  was  only  for  a  moment,  though. 
Petrie!  they  were  fingers  of  steel  —  of  steel!  " 

"  The  bed,"  I  began  .  .  . 

"  I  know  that,"  rapped  Smith.  "  I  shouldn't 
have  been  sleeping  in  it,  had  it  been  within  reach  of 
the  window;  but,  knowing  that  the  doctor  avoids 
noisy  methods,  I  had  thought  myself  fairly  safe  so 
long  as  I  made  it  impossible  for  any  one  actually  to 
enter  the  room  ..." 

"  I  have  always  insisted,  Smith,"  I  cried,  "  that 
there  was  danger!  What  of  poisoned  darts? 
What  of  the  damnable  reptiles  and  insects  which 
form  part  of  the  armory  of  Fu-Manchu?  " 

"  Familiarity  breeds  contempt,  I  suppose,"  he  re- 
plied. "  But  as  it  happened  none  of  those  agents 
was  employed.  The  very  menace  that  I  sought  to 
avoid  reached  me  somehow.  It  would  almost  seem 
that  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  deliberately  accepted  the  chal- 
lenge of  those  screwed-up  windows!  Hang  it  all, 


142     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

Petrie!  one  cannot  sleep  in  a  room  hermetically 
sealed,  in  weather  like  this!  It's  positively  Bur- 
mese; and  although  I  can  stand  tropical  heat,  curi- 
ously enough  the  heat  of  London  gets  me  down  al- 
most immediately." 

"The  humidity;  that's  easily  understood.  But 
you'll  have  to  put  up  with  it  in  the  future.  After 
nightfall  our  windows  must  be  closed  entirely, 
Smith." 

Nayland  Smith  knocked  out  his  pipe  upon  the  side 
of  the  fireplace.  The  bowl  sizzled  furiously,  but 
without  delay  he  stuffed  broad-cut  mixture  into  the 
hot  pipe,  dropping  a  liberal  quantity  upon  the  carpet 
during  the  process.  He  raised  his  eyes  to  me,  and 
his  face  was  very  grim. 

"  Petrie,"  he  said,  striking  a  match  on  the  heel  of 
his  slipper,  "  the  resources  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  are  by 
no  means  exhausted.  Before  we  quit  this  room  it  is 
up  to  us  to  come  to  a  decision  upon  a  certain  point." 
He  got  his  pipe  well  alight.  "  What  kind  of  thing, 
what  unnatural,  distorted  creature,  laid  hands  upon 
my  throat  to-night?  I  owe  my  life,  primarily,  to 
you,  old  man,  but,  secondarily,  to  the  fact  that  I  was 
awakened,  just  before  the  attack  —  by  the  creature's 
coughing  —  by  its  vile,  high-pitched  coughing  ..." 

I  glanced  around  at  the  books  upon  my  shelves. 
Often  enough,  following  some  outrage  by  the  bril- 
liant Chinese  doctor  whose  genius  was  directed  to 
the  discovery  of  new  and  unique  death  agents,  we  had 
obtained  a  clue  in  those  works  of  a  scientific  nature 


THE  COUGHING  HORROR          143- 

which  bulk  largely  in  the  library  of  a  medical  man. 
There  are  creatures,  there  are  drugs,  which,  ordinar- 
ily innocuous,  may  be  so  employed  as  to  become 
inimical  to  human  life;  and  in  the  distorting  of  na- 
ture, in  the  disturbing  of  balances  and  the  diverting 
cf  beneficent  forces  into  strange  and  dangerous  chan- 
nels, Dr.  Fu-Manchu  excelled.  I  had  known  him  to 
enlarge,  by  artificial  culture,  a  minute  species  of 
fungus  so  as  to  render  it  a  powerful  agent  capable  of 
attacking  man;  his  knowledge  of  venomous  insects 
has  probably  never  been  paralleled  in  the  history  of 
the  world;  whilst,  in  the  sphere  of  pure  toxicology, 
he  had,  and  has,  no  rival;  the  Borgias  were  children 
by  comparison.  But,  look  where  I  would,  think  how 
I  might,  no  adequate  explanation  of  this  latest  out- 
rage seemed  possible  along  normal  lines. 

"  There's  the  clue,"  said  Nayland  Smith,  pointing 
to  a  little  ash-tray  upon  the  table  near  by.  "  Follow 
it  if  you  can." 

But  I  could  not. 

"  As  I  have  explained,"  continued  my  friend,  "  I 
was  awakened  by  a  sound  of  coughing;  then  came  a 
death  grip  on  my  throat,  and  instinctively  my  hands 
shot  out  in  search  of  my  attacker.  I  could  not  reach 
him;  my  hands  came  in  contact  with  nothing  palpable. 
Therefore  I  clutched  at  the  fingers  which  were  dug 
into  my  windpipe,  and  found  them  to  be  small  —  as 
the  marks  show  —  and  hairy.  I  managed  to  give 
that  first  cry  for  help,  then  with  all  my  strength  I 
tried  to  unfasten  the  grip  that  was  throttling  the  life 


144    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

out  of  me.  At  last  I  contrived  to  move  one  of  the 
hands,  and  I  called  out  again,  though  not  so  loudly. 
Then  both  the  hands  were  back  again;  I  was  weaken- 
ing; but  I  clawed  like  a  madman  at  the  thin,  hairy 
arms  of  the  strangling  thing,  and  with  a  blood-red 
mist  dancing  before  my  eyes,  I  seemed  to  be  whirling 
madly  round  and  round  until  all  became  a  blank. 
Evidently  I  used  my  nails  pretty  freely  —  and  there's 
the  trophy." 

For  the  twentieth  time,  I  should  think,  I  carried 
the  ash-tray  in  my  hand  and  laid  it  immediately  un- 
der the  table-lamp  in  order  to  examine  its  contents. 
In  the  little  brass  bowl  lay  a  blood-stained  fragment 
of  grayish  hair  attached  to  a  tatter  of  skin.  This 
fragment  of  epidermis  had  an  odd  bluish  tinge,  and 
the  attached  hair  was  much  darker  at  the  roots  than 
elsewhere.  Saving  its  singular  color,  it  might  have 
been  torn  from  the  forearm  of  a  very  hirsute  human; 
but  although  my  thoughts  wandered  unfettered, 
north,  south,  east  and  west;  although,  knowing  the 
resources  of  Fu-Manchu,  I  considered  all  the  recog- 
nized Mongolian  types,  and,  in  quest  of  hirsute  man- 
kind, even  roamed  far  north  among  the  blubber- 
eating  Esquimo;  although  I  glanced  at  Australasia, 
at  Central  Africa,  and  passed  in  mental  review  the 
dark  places  of  the  Congo,  nowhere  in  the  known 
world,  nowhere  in  the  history  of  the  human  species, 
could  I  come  upon  a  type  of  man  answering  to  the 
description  suggested  by  our  strange  clue. 


THE  COUGHING  HORROR         145 

Nayland  Smith  was  watching  me  curiously  as  I 
bent  over  the  little  brass  ash-tray. 

"  You  are  puzzled,"  he  rapped  in  his  short  way. 
"  So  am  I  —  utterly  puzzled.  Fu-Manchu's  gal- 
lery of  monstrosities  clearly  has  become  reinforced; 
for  even  if  we  identified  the  type,  we  should  not  be  in 
sight  of  our  explanation." 

"  You  mean,"  I  began  .  .  . 

"  Fully  four  feet  from  the  window,  Petrie,  and 
that  window  but  a  few  inches  open  1  Look  " —  he 
bent  forward,  resting  his  chest  against  the  table,  and 
stretched  out  his  hand  toward  me.  "  You  have  a 
rule  there;  just  measure." 

Setting  down  the  ash-tray,  I  opened  out  the  rule 
and  measured  the  distance  from  the  further  edge  of 
the  table  to  the  tips  of  Smith's  fingers. 

*'  Twenty-eight  inches  —  and  /  have  a  long 
reach!  "  snapped  Smith,  withdrawing  his  arm  and 
striking  a  match  to  relight  his  pipe.  "  There's  one 
thing,  Petrie,  often  proposed  before,  which  now  we 
must  do  without  delay.  The  ivy  must  be  stripped 
from  the  walls  at  the  back.  It's  a  pity,  but  we  can- 
not afford  to  sacrifice  our  lives  to  our  sense  of  the 
aesthetic.  What  do  you  make  of  the  sound  like  the 
cracking  of  a  whip?  " 

"  I  make  nothing  of  it,  Smith,"  I  replied,  wearily. 
"  It  might  have  been  a  thick  branch  of  ivy  breaking 
beneath  the  weight  of  a  climber." 

"  Did  it  sound  like  it?" 


146    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  I  must  confess  that  the  explanation  does  not  con- 
vince me,  but  I  have  no  better  one." 

Smith,  permitting  his  pipe  to  go  out,  sat  staring 
straight  before  him,  and  tugging  at  the  lobe  of  his 
left  ear. 

'  The  old  bewilderment  is  seizing  me,"  I  contin- 
ued. "  At  first,  when  I  realized  that  Dr.  Fu-Man- 
chu  was  back  in  England,  when  I  realized  that  an 
elaborate  murder-machine  was  set  up  somewhere  in 
London,  it  seemed  unreal,  fantastical.  Then  I  met 
—  Karamaneh!  She,  whom  we  thought  to  be  his 
victim,  showed  herself  again  to  be  his  slave.  Now, 
with  Weymouth  and  Scotland  Yard  at  work,  the  old 
secret  evil  is  established  again  in  our  midst,  unac- 
countably —  our  lives  are  menaced  —  sleep  is  a 
danger  —  every  shadow  threatens  death  ...  oh  1 
it  is  awful." 

Smith  remained  silent;  he  did  not  seem  to  have 
heard  my  words.  I  knew  these  moods  and  had 
learnt  that  it  was  useless  to  seek  to  interrupt  them. 
With  his  brows  drawn  down,  and  his  deep-set  eyes 
staring  into  space,  he  sat  there  gripping  his  cold  pipe 
so  tightly  that  my  own  jaw  muscles  ached  sympathet- 
ically. No  man  was  better  equipped  than  this  gaunt 
British  Commissioner  to  stand  between  society  and 
the  menace  of  the  Yellow  Doctor;  I  respected  his 
meditations,  for,  unlike  my  own,  they  were  informed 
by  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  dark  and  secret 
things  of  the  East,  of  that  mysterious  East  out  of 
which  Fu-Manchu  came,  of  that  jungle  of  noxious 


THE  COUGHING  HORROR         147 

things  whose  miasma  had  been  wafted  Westward 
with  the  implacable  Chinaman. 

I  walked  quietly  from  the  room,  occupied  with 
my  own  bitter  reflections. 


CHAPTER  XV, 

BEWITCHMENT 

*4"\7'OU  say  you  have  two  items  of  news  for  me?  " 

A  said  Nayland  Smith,  looking  across  the  break- 
fast table  to  where  Inspector  Weymouth  sat  sipping 
coffee. 

"  There  are  two  points  —  yes,"  replied  the  Scot- 
land Yard  man,  whilst  Smith  paused,  egg-spoon  in 
hand,  and  fixed  his  keen  eyes  upon  the  speaker. 
"  The  first  is  this :  the  headquarters  of  the  Yellow 
group  is  no  longer  in  the  East  End." 

"  How  can  you  be  sure  of  that?  " 

"  For  two  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  that  district 
must  now  be  too  hot  to  hold  Dr.  Fu-Manchu;  in  the 
second  place,  we  have  just  completed  a  house-to- 
house  inquiry  which  has  scarcely  overlooked  a  rat- 
hole  or  a  rat.  That  place  where  you  say  Fu- 
Manchu  was  visited  by  some  Chinese  mandarin; 
where  you,  Mr.  Smith,"  and  —  glancing  in  my  di- 
rection — "  you,  Doctor,  were  confined  for  a  time  — " 

"  Yes?  "  snapped  Smith,  attacking  his  egg. 

"  Well,"  continued  the  inspector,  "  it  is  all  de- 
serted, now.  There  is  not  the  slightest  doubt  that 
the  Chinaman  has  fled  to  some  other  abode.  I  am 
certain  of  it.  My  second  piece  of  news  will  interest 
you  very  much,  I  am  sure.  You  were  taken  to  the 

148 


BEWITCHMENT  149 

establishment  of  the  Chinaman,  Shen-Yan,  by  a  cer- 
tain ex-officer  of  New  York  Police  —  Burke  .  .  ." 

"  Good  God !  "  cried  Smith,  looking  up  with  a 
start;  "  I  thought  they  had  him  1  " 

"  So  did  I,"  replied  Weymouth  grimly;  "  but  they 
haven't!  He  got  away  in  the  confusion  following 
the  raid,  and  has  been  hiding  ever  since  with  a  cousin 
—  a  nurseryman  out  Upminster  way  .  .  ." 

"  Hiding?  "  snapped  Smith. 

"  Exactly  —  hiding.  He  has  been  afraid  to  stir 
ever  since,  and  has  scarcely  shown  his  nose  outside 
the  door.  He  says  he  is  watched  night  and  day." 

"  Then  how  .  .  ." 

"  He  realized  that  something  must  be  done,"  con- 
tinued the  inspector,  "  and  made  a  break  this  morn- 
ing. He  is  so  convinced  of  this  constant  surveillance 
that  he  came  away  secretly,  hidden  under  the  boxes 
of  a  market-wagon.  He  landed  at  Covent  Garden 
in  the  early  hours  of  this  morning  and  came  straight 
away  to  the  Yard." 

"  What  is  he  afraid  of  exactly?  " 

Inspector  Weymouth  put  down  his  coffee  cup  and 
bent  forward  slightly. 

"  He  knows  something,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"  and  they  are  aware  that  he  knows  it  1  " 

"  And  what  is  this  he  knows  ?  " 

Nayland  Smith  stared  eagerly  at  the  detective. 

"  Every  man  has  his  price,"  replied  Weymouth 
with  a  smile,  "  and  Burke  seems  to  think  that  you  are 
a  more  likely  market  than  the  police  authorities." 


150    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCITtf 

"  I  see,"  snapped  Smith.  "  He  wants  to  see 
me?" 

"  He  wants  you  to  go  and  see  him,"  was  the  reply. 
"  I  think  he  anticipates  that  you  may  make  a  capture 
of  the  person  or  persons  spying  upon  him." 

"  Did  he  give  you  any  particulars?  " 

"  Several.  He  spoke  of  a  sort  of  gipsy  girl 
with  whom  he  had  a  short  conversation  one  day, 
over  the  fence  which  divides  his  cousin's  flower  plan- 
tations from  the  lane  adjoining." 

"Gipsy  girl!"  I  whispered,  glancing  rapidly  at 
Smith. 

"  I  think  you  are  right,  Doctor,"  said  Weymouth 
with  his  slow  smile;  "it  was  Karamaneh.  She 
asked  him  the  way  to  somewhere  or  other  and  got 
him  to  write  it  upon  a  loose  page  of  his  notebook, 
so  that  she  should  not  forget  it." 

"  You  hear  that,  Petrie?  "  rapped  Smith. 

"  I  hear  it,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  don't  see  any  special 
significance  in  the  fact." 

"I  do!"  rapped  Smith;  "I  didn't  sit  up  the 
greater  part  of  last  night  thrashing  my  weary  brains 
for  nothing!  But  I  am  going  to  the  British  Museum 
to-day,  to  confirm  a  certain  suspicion."  He  turned 
to  Weymouth.  "Did  Burke  go  back?"  he  de- 
manded abruptly. 

"  He  returned  hidden  under  the  empty  boxes," 
was  the  reply.  "  Oh!  you  never  saw  a  man  in  such 
a  funk  in  all  your  life !  " 

"  He  may  have  good  reasons,"  I  said. 


BEWITCHMENT  151 

"  He  has  good  reasons!  "  replied  Nayland  Smith 
grimly;  "if  that  man  really  possesses  information 
inimical  to  the  safety  of  Fu-Manchu,  he  can  only 
escape  doom  by  means  of  a  miracle  similar  to  that 
which  has  hitherto  protected  you  and  me." 

"  Burke  insists,"  said  Weymouth  at  this  point, 
"  that  something  comes  almost  every  night  after 
dusk,  slinking  about  the  house  —  it's  an  old  farm- 
house, I  understand;  and  on  two  or  three  occasions 
he  has  been  awakened  (fortunately  for  him  he  is  a 
light  sleeper)  by  sounds  of  coughing  immediately 
outside  his  window.  He  is  a  man  who  sleeps  with  a 
pistol  under  his  pillow,  and  more  than  once,  on  run- 
ning to  the  window,  he  has  had  a  vague  glimpse  of 
some  creature  leaping  down  from  the  tiles  of  the 
roof,  which  slopes  up  to  his  room,  into  the  flower 
beds  below  .  .  ." 

"  Creature !  "  said  Smith,  his  gray  eyes  ablaze 
now  — "  you  said  creature!  " 

"  I  used  the  word  deliberately,"  replied  Wey- 
mouth, "  because  Burke  seems  to  have  the  idea  that 
it  goes  on  all  fours." 

There  was  a  short  and  rather  strained  silence. 
Then: 

"  In  descending  a  sloping  roof,"  I  suggested,  "  a 
human  being  would  probably  employ  his  hands  as 
well  as  his  feet." 

"  Quite  so,"  agreed  the  inspector.  "  I  am 
merely  reporting  the  impression  of  Burke." 

"  Has  he  heard  no  other  sound?  "  rapped  Smith; 


152     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  one  like  the  cracking  of  dry  branches,  for  in- 
stance? " 

"  He  made  no  mention  of  it,"  replied  Weymouth, 
staring. 

"  And  what  is  the  plan?  " 

"  One  of  his  cousin's  vans,"  said  Weymouth,  with 
his  slight  smile,  "  has  remained  behind  at  Covent 
Garden  and  will  return  late  this  afternoon.  I  pro- 
pose that  you  and  I,  Mr.  Smith,  imitate  Burke  and 
ride  down  to  Upminster  under  the  empty  boxes  1  " 

Nayland  Smith  stood  up,  leaving  his  breakfast 
half  finished,  and  began  to  wander  up  and  down  the 
room,  reflectively  tugging  at  his  ear.  Then  he  be- 
gan to  fumble  in  the  pockets  of  his  dressing-gown 
and  finally  produced  the  inevitable  pipe,  dilapidated 
pouch,  and  box  of  safety  matches.  He  began  to 
load  the  much-charred  agent  of  reflection. 

"  Do  I  understand  that  Burke  is  actually  too  afraid 
to  go  out  openly  even  in  daylight?  "  he  asked  sud- 
denly. 

"  He  has  not  hitherto  left  his  cousin's  plantations 
at  all,"  replied  Weymouth.  "  He  seems  to  think 
that  openly  to  communicate  with  the  authorities,  or 
with  you,  would  be  to  seal  his  death  warrant." 

"  He's  right,"  snapped  Smith. 

"  Therefore  he  came  and  returned  secretly,"  con- 
tinued the  inspector;  "  and  if  we  are  to  do  any  good, 
obviously  we  must  adopt  similar  precautions.  The 
market  wagon,  loaded  in  such  a  way  as  to  leave 


BEWITCHMENT  153 

ample  space  in  the  interior  for  us,  will  be  drawn  up 
outside  the  office  of  Messrs.  Pike  and  Pike,  in  Covent 
Garden,  until  about  five  o'clock  this  afternoon.  At, 
say,  half  past  four,  I  propose  that  we  meet  there  and 
embark  upon  the  journey." 

The  speaker  glanced  in  my  direction  interroga- 
tively. 

"  Include  me  in  the  program,"  I  said.  "  Will 
there  be  room  in  the  wagon?  " 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  reply;  "  it  is  most  com- 
modious, but  I  cannot  guarantee  its  comfort." 

Nayland  Smith  promenaded  the  room,  unceasingly, 
and  presently  he  walked  out  altogether,  only  to  re- 
turn ere  the  inspector  and  I  had  had  time  to  ex- 
change more  than  a  glance  of  surprise,  carrying  a 
brass  ash-tray.  He  placed  this  on  a  corner  of  the 
breakfast  table  before  Weymouth. 

"  Ever  seen  anything  like  that?  "  he  inquired. 

The  inspector  examined  the  gruesome  relic  with 
obvious  curiosity,  turning  it  over  with  the  tip  of  his 
little  finger  and  manifesting  considerable  repugnance 
in  touching  it  at  all.  Smith  and  I  watched  him  in  si- 
lence, and,  finally,  placing  the  tray  again  upon  the 
table,  he  looked  up  in  a  puzzled  way. 

"  It's  something  like  the  skin  of  a  water  rat,"  he 
said. 

Nayland  Smith  stared  at  him  fixedly. 

"  A  water  rat  ?  Now  that  you  come  to  mention  it, 
I  perceive  a  certain  resemblance  —  yes.  But " —  he 


154    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

had  been  wearing  a  silk  scarf  about  his  throat  and 
now  he  unwrapped  it — "  did  you  ever  see  a  water 
rat  that  could  make  marks  like  these?  " 

Weymouth  started  to  his  feet  with  some  muttered 
exclamation. 

"What  is  this?"  he  cried.  "When  did  it  hap- 
pen, and  how?  " 

In  his  own  terse  fashion,  Nayland  Smith  related 
the  happenings  of  the  night.  At  the  conclusion  of 
the  story: 

"  By  heaven !  "  whispered  Weymouth,  "  the  thing 
on  the  roof  —  the  coughing  thing  that  goes  on  all 
fours,  seen  by  Burke  .  .  ." 

"  My  own  idea  exactly !  "  cried  Smith  .  .  . 

"  Fu-Manchu,"  I  said  excitedly,  "  has  brought 
some  new,  some  dreadful  creature,  from  Bur- 
ma .  .  ." 

"  No,  Petrie,"  snapped  Smith,  turning  upon  me 
suddenly.  "  Not  from  Burma  —  from  Abyssinia." 

That  day  was  destined  to  be  an  eventful  one;  a 
day  never  to  be  forgotten  by  any  of  us  concerned  in 
those  happenings  which  I  have  to  record.  Early  in 
the  morning  Nayland  Smith  set  off  for  the  British 
Museum  to  pursue  his  mysterious  investigations,  and 
having  performed  my  brief  professional  round 
(for,  as  Nayland  Smith  had  remarked  on  one  occa- 
sion, this  was  a  beastly  healthy  district),  I  found, 
having  made  the  necessary  arrangements,  that,  with 
over  three  hours  to  spare,  I  had  nothing  to  occupy 


BEWITCHMENT  155 

my  time  until  the  appointment  in  Covent  Garden 
Market.  My  lonely  lunch  completed,  a  restless  fit 
seized  me,  and  I  felt  unable  to  remain  longer  in  the 
house.  Inspired  by  this  restlessness,  I  attired  my- 
self for  the  adventure  of  the  evening,  not  neglecting 
to  place  a  pistol  in  my  pocket,  and,  walking  to  the 
neighboring  Tube  station,  I  booked  to  Charing 
Cross,  and  presently  found  myself  rambling  aimlessly 
along  the  crowded  streets.  Led  on  by  what  link  of 
memory  I  know  not,  I  presently  drifted  into  New 
Oxford  Street,  and  looked  up  with  a  start  —  to  learn 
that  I  stood  before  the  shop  of  a  second-hand  book- 
seller where  once  two  years  before  I  had  met  Kara- 
maneh. 

The  thoughts  conjured  up  at  that  moment  were 
almost  too  bitter  to  be  borne,  and  without  so  much  as 
glancing  at  the  books  displayed  for  sale,  I  crossed 
the  roadway,  entered  Museum  Street,  and,  rather  in 
order  to  distract  my  mind  than  because  I  contem- 
plated any  purchase,  began  to  examine  the  Oriental 
pottery,  Egyptian  statuettes,  Indian  armor,  and 
other  curios,  displayed  in  the  window  of  an  antique 
dealer. 

But,  strive  as  I  would  to  concentrate  my  mind 
upon  the  objects  in  the  window,  my  memories  persist- 
ently haunted  me,  and  haunted  me  to  the  exclusion 
even  of  the  actualities.  The  crowds  thronging  the 
pavement,  the  traffic  in  New  Oxford  Street,  swept 
past  unheeded;  my  eyes  saw  nothing  of  pot  nor 
statuette,  but  only  met,  in  a  misty  imaginative  world, 


156     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

the  glance  of  two  other  eyes  —  the  dark  and  beauti- 
ful eyes  of  Karamaneh.  In  the  exquisite  tinting  of 
a  Chinese  vase  dimly  perceptible  in  the  background 
of  the  shop,  I  perceived  only  the  blushing  cheeks  of 
Karamaneh;  her  face  rose  up,  a  taunting  phantom, 
from  out  of  the  darkness  between  a  hideous,  gilded 
idol  and  an  Indian  sandalwood  screen. 

I  strove  to  dispel  this  obsessing  thought,  reso- 
lutely fixing  my  attention  upon  a  tall  Etruscan  vase  in 
the  corner  of  the  window,  near  to  the  shop  door. 
Was  I  losing  my  senses  indeed?  A  doubt  of  my 
own  sanity  momentarily  possessed  me.  For,  strug- 
gle as  I  would  to  dispel  the  illusion  —  there,  looking 
out  at  me  over  that  ancient  piece  of  pottery,  was  the 
bewitching  face  of  the  slave-girl ! 

Probably  I  was  glaring  madly,  and  possibly  I  at- 
tracted the  notice  of  the  passers-by;  but  of  this  I 
cannot  be  certain,  for  all  my  attention  was  centered 
upon  that  phantasmal  face,  with  the  cloudy  hair, 
slightly  parted  red  lips,  and  the  brilliant  dark  eyes 
which  looked  into  mine  out  of  the  shadows  of  the 
shop. 

It  was  bewildering  —  it  was  uncanny;  for,  delu- 
sion or  verity,  the  glamour  prevailed.  I  exerted  a 
great  mental  effort,  stepped  to  the  door,  turned  the 
handle,  and  entered  the  shop  with  as  great  a  show  of 
composure  as  I  could  muster. 

A  curtain  draped  in  a  little  door  at  the  back  of  one 
counter  swayed  slightly,  with  no  greater  violence 
than  may  have  been  occasioned  by  the  draught.  But 


BEWITCHMENT  157 

I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  this  swaying  curtain  almost 
fiercely  ...  as  an  impassive  half-caste  of  some  kind 
who  appeared  to  be  a  strange  cross  between  a  Graeco- 
Hebrew  and  a  Japanese,  entered  and  quite  unemo- 
tionally faced  me,  with  a  slight  bow. 

So  wholly  unexpected  was  this  apparition  that  I 
started  back. 

"Can  I  show  you  anything,  sir?"  inquired  the 
new  arrival,  with  a  second  slight  inclination  of  the 
head. 

I  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  silence.     Then : 

"  I  thought  I  saw  a  lady  of  my  acquaintance  here 
a  moment  ago,"  I  said.  "  Was  I  mistaken?  " 

"  Quite  mistaken,  sir,"  replied  the  shopman,  rais- 
ing his  black  eyebrows  ever  so  slightly;  "  a  mistake 
possibly  due  to  a  reflection  in  the  window.  Will  you 
take  a  look  around  now  that  you  are  here?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  I  replied,  staring  him  hard  in  the 
face;  "  at  some  other  time." 

I  turned  and  quitted  the  shop  abruptly.  Either 
I  was  mad,  or  Karamaneh  was  concealed  somewhere 
therein. 

However,  realizing  my  helplessness  in  the  matter, 
I  contented  myself  with  making  a  mental  note  of  the 
name  which  appeared  above  the  establishment  —  J. 
Salaman  —  and  walked  on,  my  mind  in  a  chaotic  con- 
dition and  my  heart  beating  with  unusual  rapidity. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  QUESTING  HANDS 

WITHIN  my  view,  from  the  corner  of  the  room 
where  I  sat  in  deepest  shadow,  through  the 
partly  opened  window  (it  was  screwed,  like  our 
own)  were  rows  of  glass-houses  gleaming  in  the 
moonlight,  and,  beyond  them,  orderly  ranks  of 
flower-beds  extending  into  a  blue  haze  of  distance. 
By  reason  of  the  moon's  position,  no  light  entered 
the  room,  but  my  eyes,  from  long  watching,  were 
grown  familiar  with  the  darkness,  and  I  could  see 
Burke  quite  clearly  as  he  lay  in  the  bed  between  my 
post  and  the  window.  I  seemed  to  be  back  again  in 
those  days  of  the  troubled  past  when  first  Nayland 
Smith  and  I  had  come  to  grips  with  the  servants  of 
Dr.  Fu-Manchu.  A  more  peaceful  scene  than  this 
flower-planted  corner  of  Essex  it  would  be  difficult 
to  imagine;  but,  either  because  of  my  knowledge  that 
its  peace  was  chimerical,  or  because  of  that  outflung 
consciousness  of  danger  which,  actually,  or  in  my 
imagination,  preceded  the  coming  of  the  Chinaman's 
agents,  to  my  seeming  the  silence  throbbed  electri- 
cally and  the  night  was  laden  with  stilly  omens. 

Already  cramped  by  my  journey  in  the  market-cart, 
I  found  it  difficult  to  remain  very  long  in  any  one 

158 


THE  QUESTING  HANDS  159 

position.  What  information  had  Burke  to  sell? 
He  had  refused,  for  some  reason,  to  discuss  the  mat- 
ter that  evening,  and  now,  enacting  the  part  allotted 
him  by  Nayland  Smith,  he  feigned  sleep  consistently, 
although  at  intervals  he  would  whisper  to  me  his 
doubts  and  fears. 

All  the  chances  were  in  our  favor  to-night;  for 
whilst  I  could  not  doubt  that  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  was  set 
upon  the  removal  of  the  ex-officer  of  New  York  po- 
lice, neither  could  I  doubt  that  our  presence  in  the 
farm  was  unknown  to  the  agents  of  the  Chinaman. 
According  to  Burke,  constant  attempts  had  been 
made  to  achieve  Fu-Manchu's  purpose,  and  had  only 
been  frustrated  by  his  (Burke's)  wakefulness. 
There  was  every  probability  that  another  attempt 
would  be  made  to-night. 

Any  one  who  has  been  forced  by  circumstance  to 
undertake  such  a  vigil  as  this  will  be  familiar  with 
the  marked  changes  (corresponding  with  phases  of 
the  earth's  movement)  which  take  place  in  the  at- 
mosphere, at  midnight,  at  two  o'clock,  and  again 
at  four  o'clock.  During  those  fours  hours  falls  a 
period  wherein  all  life  is  at  its  lowest  ebb,  and  every 
physician  is  aware  that  there  is  a  greater  likelihood 
of  a  patient's  passing  between  midnight  and  four 
A.  M.,  than  at  any  other  period  during  the  cycle  of 
the  hours. 

To-night  I  became  specially  aware  of  this  lowering 
of  vitality,  and  now,  with  the  night  at  that  darkest 
phase  which  precedes  the  dawn,  an  indescribable 


160    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

dread,  such  as  I  had  known  before  in  my  dealings 
with  the  Chinaman,  assailed  me,  when  I  was  least  pre- 
pared to  combat  it.  The  stillness  was  intense. 
Then: 

"Here  It  is! "  whispered  Burke  from  the  bed. 

The  chill  at  the  very  center  of  my  being,  which 
but  corresponded  with  the  chill  of  all  surrounding 
nature  at  that  hour,  became  intensified,  keener,  at  the 
whispered  words. 

I  rose  stealthily  out  of  my  chair,  and  from  my 
nest  of  shadows  watched  —  watched  intently,  the 
bright  oblong  of  the  window  .  .  . 

Without  the  slightest  heralding  sound  —  a  black 
silhouette  crept  up  against  the  pane  .  .  .  the  sil- 
houette of  a  small,  malformed  head,  a  dog-like 
head,  deep-set  in  square  shoulders.  Malignant  eyes 
peered  intently  in.  Higher  it  arose  —  that  wicked 
head  —  against  the  window,  then  crouched  down  on 
the  sill  and  became  less  sharply  defined  as  the  crea- 
ture stooped  to  the  opening  below.  There  was  a 
faint  sound  of  sniffing. 

Judging  from  the  stark  horror  which  I  experi- 
enced, myself,  I  doubted,  now,  if  Burke  could  sustain 
the  role  allotted  him.  In  beneath  the  slightly  raised 
window  came  a  hand,  perceptible  to  me  despite  the 
darkness  of  the  room.  It  seemed  to  project  from 
the  black  silhouette  outside  the  pane,  to  be  thrust 
forward  —  and  forward  —  and  forward  .  .  .  that 
small  hand  with  the  outstretched  fingers. 

The  unknown  possesses  unique  terrors;  and  since  I 


THE  QUESTING  HANDS  161 

was  unable  to  conceive  what  manner  of  thing  this 
could  be,  which,  extending  its  incredibly  long  arms, 
now  sought  the  throat  of  the  man  upon  the  bed,  I 
tasted  of  that  sort  of  terror  which  ordinarily  one 
knows  only  in  dreams. 

"Quick,  sir  —  quick!"  screamed  Burke,  starting 
up  from  the  pillow. 

The  questing  hands  had  reached  his  throat! 

Choking  down  an  urgent  dread  that  I  had  of 
touching  the  thing  which  had  reached  through  the 
window  to  kill  the  sleeper,  I  sprang  across  the  room 
and  grasped  the  rigid,  hairy  forearms. 

Heavens!  Never  have  I  felt  such  muscles,  such 
tendons,  as  those  beneath  the  hirsute  skin!  They 
seemed  to  be  of  steel  wire,  and  with  a  sudden  fright- 
ful sense  of  impotence,  I  realized  that  I  was  as  pow- 
erless as  a  child  to  relax  that  strangle-hold.  Burke 
was  making  the  most  frightful  sounds  and  quite  ob- 
viously was  being  asphyxiated  before  my  eyes! 

"Smith!"  I  cried,  "Smith!  Help!  help!  for 
God's  sake !  " 

Despite  the  confusion  of  my  mind  I  became  aware 
of  sounds  outside  and  below  me.  Twice  the  thing 
at  the  window  coughed;  there  was  an  incessant,  lash- 
like  cracking,  then  some  shouted  words  which  I  was 
unable  to  make  out;  and  finally  the  staccato  report  of 
a  pistol. 

Snarling  like  that  of  a  wild  beast  came  from  the 
creature  with  the  hairy  arms,  together  with  renewed 
coughing.  But  the  steel  grip  relaxed  not  one  iota. 


162     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

I  realized  two  things:  the  first,  that  in  my  terror  at 
the  suddenness  of  the  attack  I  had  omitted  to  act 
as  pre-arranged:  the  second,  that  I  had  discredited 
the  strength  of  the  visitant,  whilst  Smith  had  fore- 
seen it. 

Desisting  in  my  vain  endeavor  to  pit  my  strength 
against  that  of  the  nameless  thing,  I  sprang  back 
across  the  room  and  took  up  the  weapon  which  had 
been  left  in  my  charge  earlier  in  the  night,  but  which 
I  had  been  unable  to  believe  it  would  be  necessary  to 
employ.  This  was  a  sharp  and  heavy  axe,  which 
Nayland  Smith,  when  I  had  met  him  in  Covent  Gar- 
den, had  brought  with  him,  to  the  great  amazement 
of  Weymouth  and  myself. 

As  I  leaped  back  to  the  window  and  uplifted  this 
primitive  weapon,  a  second  shot  sounded  from  below, 
and  more  fierce  snarling,  coughing,  and  guttural  mut- 
terings  assailed  my  ears  from  beyond  the  pane. 

Lifting  the  heavy  blade,  I  brought  it  down  with 
all  my  strength  upon  the  nearer  of  those  hairy  arms 
where  it  crossed  the  window-ledge,  severing  muscle, 
tendon  and  bone  as  easily  as  a  knife  might  cut 
cheese.  .  .  . 

A  shriek  —  a  shriek  neither  human  nor  animal, 
but  gruesomely  compounded  of  both  —  followed 
.  .  .  and  merged  into  a  choking  cough.  Like  a 
flash  the  other  shaggy  arm  was  withdrawn,  and  some 
vaguely-seen  body  went  rolling  down  the  sloping  red 
tiles  and  crashed  on  to  the  ground  beneath. 

With  a  second  piercing  shriek,  louder  than  that 


THE  QUESTING  HANDS  163 

recently  uttered  by  Burke,  wailing  through  the  night 
from  somewhere  below,  I  turned  desperately  to  the 
man  on  the  bed,  who  now  was  become  significantly 
silent.  A  candle,  with  matches,  stood  upon  a  table 
hard  by,  and,  my  fingers  far  from  steady,  I  set  about 
obtaining  a  light.  This  accomplished,  I  stood  the 
candle  upon  the  little  chest-of-drawers  and  returned 
to  Burke's  side. 

"Merciful  God!"  I  cried. 

Of  all  the  pictures  which  remain  in  my  memory, 
some  of  them  dark  enough,  I  can  find  none  more 
horrible  than  that  which  now  confronted  me  in  the 
dim  candle-light.  Burke  lay  crosswise  on  the  bed, 
his  head  thrown  back  and  sagging;  one  rigid  hand 
he  held  in  the  air,  and  with  the  other  grasped  the 
hairy  forearm  which  I  had  severed  with  the  ax;  for, 
in  a  death-grip,  the  dead  fingers  were  still  fastened, 
vise-like,  at  his  throat. 

His  face  was  nearly  black,  and  his  eyes  projected 
from  their  sockets  horribly.  Mastering  my  repug- 
nance, I  seized  the  hideous  piece  of  bleeding  anatomy 
and  strove  to  release  it.  It  defied  all  my  efforts;  in 
death  it  was  as  implacable  as  in  life.  I  took  a  knife 
from  my  pocket,  and,  tendon  by  tendon,  cut  away 
that  uncanny  grip  from  Burke's  throat  .  .  . 

But  my  labor  was  in  vain.     Burke  was  dead ! 

I  think  I  failed  to  realize  this  for  some  time.  My 
clothes  were  sticking  clammily  to  my  body;  I  was 
bathed  in  perspiration,  and,  shaking  furiously,  I 
clutched  at  the  edge  of  the  window,  avoiding  the- 


1 64    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

bloody  patch  upon  the  ledge,  and  looked  out  over 
the  roofs  to  where,  in  the  more  distant  plantations,  I 
could  hear  excited  voices.  What  had  been  the  mean- 
ing of  that  scream  which  I  had  heard  but  to  which  in 
my  frantic  state  of  mind  I  had  paid  comparatively 
little  attention? 

There  was  a  great  stirring  all  about  me. 

"  Smith!  "  I  cried  from  the  window;  "  Smith,  for 
mercy's  sake  where  are  you?  " 

Footsteps  came  racing  up  the  stairs.  Behind  me 
the  door  burst  open  and  Nayland  Smith  stumbled 
into  the  room. 

"  God!  "  he  said,  and  started  back  in  the  doorway. 

"  Have  you  got  it,  Smith?  "  I  demanded  hoarsely. 
"  In  sanity's  name  what  is  it  —  what  is  it?  " 

"  Come  downstairs,"  replied  Smith  quietly,  "  and 
see  for  yourself."  He  turned  his  head  aside  from 
the  bed. 

Very  unsteadily  I  followed  him  down  the  stairs 
and  through  the  rambling  old  house  out  into  the 
stone-paved  courtyard.  There  were  figures  moving 
at  the  end  of  a  long  alleyway  between  the  glass 
houses,  and  one,  carrying  a  lantern,  stooped  over 
something  which  lay  upon  the  ground. 

"  That's  Burke's  cousin  with  the  lantern,"  whis- 
pered Smith  in  my  ear;  "  don't  tell  him  yet." 

I  nodded,  and  we  hurried  up  to  join  the  group.  I 
found  myself  looking  down  at  one  of  those  thick-set 
Burmans  whom  I  always  associated  with  Fu-Man- 
chu's  activities.  He  lay  quite  flat,  face  downward; 


THE  QUESTING  HANDS  165 

but  the  back  of  his  head  was  a  shapeless  blood-clotted 
mass,  and  a  heavy  stock-whip,  the  butt  end  ghastly 
because  of  the  blood  and  hair  which  clung  to  it,  lay 
beside  him.  I  started  back  appalled  as  Smith  caught 
my  arm. 

"  It  turned  on  its  keeper  I  "  he  hissed  in  my  ear. 
"  I  wounded  it  twice  from  below,  and  you  severed 
one  arm ;  in  its  insensate  fury,  its  unreasoning  malign- 
ity, it  returned  —  and  there  lies  its  second  vic- 
tim .  .  ." 

"Then  .  .  ." 

"  It's  gone,  Petrie !  It  has  the  strength  of  four 
men  even  now.  Look!  " 

He  stooped,  and  from  the  clenched  left  hand  of 
the  dead  Burman,  extracted  a  piece  of  paper  and 
opened  it. 

"  Hold  the  lantern  a  moment,"  he  said. 

In  the  yellow  light  he  glanced  at  the  scrap  of 
paper. 

"  As  I  expected  —  a  leaf  of  Burke's  notebook;  it 
worked  by  scent."  He  turned  to  me  with  an  odd 
expression  in  his  gray  eyes.  "  I  wonder  what  piece 
of  my  personal  property  Fu-Manchu  has  pilfered," 
he  said,  "  in  order  to  enable  it  to  sleuth  me?  " 

He  met  the  gaze  of  the  man  holding  the  lantern. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  return  to  the  house,"  he 
said,  looking  him  squarely  in  the  eyes. 

The  other's  face  blanched. 

"You  don't  mean,  sir  —  you  don't  mean  .  .  ." 

"  Brace  up !  "  said  Smith,  laying  his  hand  upon  his 


1 66     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

shoulder.  "Remember  —  he  chose  to  play  with 
fire!" 

One  wild  look  the  man  cast  from  Smith  to  me, 
then  went  off,  staggering,  toward  the  farm. 

"  Smith,"  I  began  .  .  . 

He  turned  to  me  with  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  Weymouth  has  driven  into  Upminster,"  he 
snapped;  "  and  the  whole  district  will  be  scoured 
before  morning.  They  probably  motored  here,  but 
the  sounds  of  the  shots  will  have  enabled  whoever 
was  with  the  car  to  make  good  his  escape.  And  — 
exhausted  from  loss  of  blood,  its  capture  is  only  % 
matter  of  time,  Petrie." 


CHAPTER  XVII 
ONE  DAY  IN  RANGOON 

NAYLAND  SMITH  returned  from  the  tel- 
ephone. Nearly  twenty-four  hours  had 
elapsed  since  the  awful  death  of  Burke. 

"  No  news,  Petrie,"  he  said,  shortly.  "  It  must 
have  crept  into  some  inaccessible  hole  to  die." 

I  glanced  up  from  my  notes.  Smith  settled  into 
the  white  cane  armchair,  and  began  to  surround  him- 
self with  clouds  of  aromatic  smoke.  I  took  up  a 
half-sheet  of  foolscap  covered  with  penciled  writing 
in  my  friend's  cramped  characters,  and  transcribed 
the  following,  in  order  to  complete  my  account  of 
the  latest  Fu-Manchu  outrage: 

"  The  Amharun,  a  Semitic  tribe  allied  to  the  Fal- 
ashas,  who  have  been  settled  for  many  generations 
in  the  southern  province  of  Shoa  (Abyssinia)  have 
been  regarded  as  unclean  and  outcast,  apparently 
since  the  days  of  Menelek  —  son  of  Suleyman  and 
the  Queen  of  Sheba  —  from  whom  they  claim  de- 
scent. Apart  from  their  custom  of  eating  meat  cut 
from  living  beasts,  they  are  accursed  because  of 
their  alleged  association  with  the  Cynocephalus  ham- 
adryas  (Sacred  Baboon).  I,  myself,  was  taken  to 
a  hut  on  the  banks  of  "the  Hawash  and  shown  a 
creature  .  .  .  whose  predominant  trait  was  an  un« 

167 


1 68     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

reasoning  malignity  toward  .  .  .  and  a  ferocious 
tenderness  for  the  society  of  its  furry  brethren.  Its 
powers  of  scent  were  fully  equal  to  those  of  a  blood- 
hound, whilst  its  abnormally  long  forearms  possessed 
incredible  strength  ...  a  Cynocephalyte  such  as 
this,  contracts  phthisis  even  in  the  more  northern 
provinces  of  Abyssinia  .  .  ." 

"  You  have  not  explained  to  me,  Smith,"  I  said, 
having  completed  this  note,  "  how  you  got  in  touch 
with  Fu-Manchu;  how  you  learnt  that  he  was  not 
dead,  as  we  had  supposed,  but  living  —  active." 

Nayland  Smith  stood  up  and  fixed  his  steely  eyes 
upon  me  with  an  indefinable  expression  in  them. 
Then: 

"  No,"  he  replied;  "  I  haven't.  Do  you  wish  to 
know?" 

"  Certainly,"  I  said  with  surprise;  "  is  there  any 
reason  why  I  should  not?  " 

"  There  is  no  real  reason,"  said  Smith;  "  or  " — 
staring  at  me  very  hard  — "  I  hope  there  is  no  real 
reason." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Well  " —  he  grabbed  up  his  pipe  from  the  table 
and  began  furiously  to  load  it — "  I  blundered  upon 
the  truth  one  day  in  Rangoon.  I  was  walking  out 
of  a  house  which  I  occupied  there  for  a  time,  and  as 
I  swung  around  the  corner  into  the  main  street,  I 
ran  into  —  literally  ran  into  .  .  ." 

Again  he  hesitated  oddly;  then  closed  up  his  pouch 
and  tossed  it  into  the  cane  chair.  He  struck  a  match. 


ONE  DAY  IN  RANGOON  169 

"  I  ran  into  Karamaneh,"  he  continued  abruptly, 
and  began  to  puff  away  at  his  pipe,  filling  the  air  with 
clouds  of  tobacco  smoke. 

I  caught  my  breath.  This  was  the  reason  why  he 
had  kept  me  so  long  in  ignorance  of  the  story.  He 
knew  of  my  hopeless,  uncrushable  sentiments  toward 
the  gloriously  beautiful  but  utterly  hypocritical  and 
evil  Eastern  girl  who  was  perhaps  the  most  danger- 
ous of  all  Dr.  Fu-Manchu's  servants;  for  the  power 
of  her  loveliness  was  magical,  as  I  knew  to  my  cost. 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  "  I  asked  quietly,  my  fingers 
drumming  upon  the  table. 

"  Naturally  enough,"  continued  Smith,  "  with  a  cry 
of  recognition  I  held  out  both  my  hands  to  her, 
gladly.  I  welcomed  her  as  a  dear  friend  regained; 
I  thought  of  the  joy  with  which  you  would  learn  that 
I  had  found  the  missing  one;  I  thought  how  you 
would  be  in  Rangoon  just  as  quickly  as  the  fastest 
steamer  could  get  you  there  .  .  ." 

"Well?" 

"  Karamaneh  started  back  and  treated  me  to  a 
glance  of  absolute  animosity.  No  recognition  was 
there,  and  no  friendliness  —  only  a  sort  of  scornful 
anger." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  began  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  room. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  would  have  done  in  the 
circumstances,  Petrie,  but  I  — " 

"Yes?" 

"  I  dealt  with  the  situation  rather  promptly,  I 


170     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

think.  I  simply  picked  her  up  without  another  word, 
right  there  in  the  public  street,  and  raced  back  into 
the  house,  with  her  kicking  and  fighting  like  a  little 
demon!  She  did  not  shriek  or  do  anything  of  that 
kind,  but  fought  silently  like  a  vicious  wild  animal. 
Oh!  I  had  some  scars,  I  assure  you;  but  I  carried  her 
up  into  my  office,  which  fortunately  was  empty  at  the 
time,  plumped  her  down  in  a  chair,  and  stood  looking 
at  her." 

"  Go  on,"  I  said  rather  hollowly;  "  what  next?  " 

"  She  glared  at  me  with  those  wonderful  eyes,  an 
expression  of  implacable  hatred  in  them!  Remem- 
bering all  that  we  had  done  for  her;  remembering  our 
former  friendship;  above  all,  remembering  you  — 
this  look  of  hers  almost  made  me  shiver.  She  was 
dressed  very  smartly  in  European  fashion,  and  the 
whole  thing  had  been  so  sudden  that  as  I  stood  look- 
ing at  her  I  half  expected  to  wake  up  presently  and 
find  it  all  a  day-dream.  But  it  was  real  —  as  real  as 
her  enmity.  I  felt  the  need  for  reflection,  and  hav- 
ing vainly  endeavored  to  draw  her  into  conversation, 
and  elicited  no  other  answer  than  this  glare  of  hatred 
—  I  left  her  there,  going  out  and  locking  the  door 
behind  me." 

"Very  high-handed?" 

"A  commissioner  has  certain  privileges,  Petrie; 
and  any  action  I  might  choose  to  take  was  not  likely 
to  be  questioned.  There  was  only  one  window  to 
the  office,  and  it  was  fully  twenty  feet  above  the  level ; 
it  overlooked  a  narrow  street  off  the  main  thorough- 


ONE  DAY  IN  RANGOON  171 

fare  (I  think  I  have  explained  that  the  house  stood 
on  a  corner)  so  I  did  not  fear  her  escaping.  I  had 
an  important  engagement  which  I  had  been  on  my 
way  to  fulfil  when  the  encounter  took  place,  and 
now,  with  a  word  to  my  native  servant  —  who 
chanced  to  be  downstairs  —  I  hurried  off." 

Smith's  pipe  had  gone  out  as  usual,  and  he  pro- 
ceeded to  relight  it,  whilst,  with  my  eyes  lowered,  I 
continued  to  drum  upon  the  table. 

"This  boy  took  her  some  tea  later  in  the  after- 
noon," he  continued,  "  and  apparently  found  her  in  a 
more  placid  frame  of  mind.  I  returned  immediately 
after  dusk,  and  he  reported  that  when  last  he  had 
looked  in,  about  half  an  hour  earlier,  she  had  been 
seated  in  an  armchair  reading  a  newspaper  (I  may 
mention  that  everything  of  value  in  the  office  was 
securely  locked  up!)  I  was  determined  upon  a  cer- 
tain course  by  this  time,  and  I  went  slowly  upstairs, 
unlocked  the  door,  and  walked  into  the  darkened 
office.  I  turned  up  the  light  .  .  .  the  place  was 
empty!  " 

"Empty!" 

"The  window  was  open,  and  the  bird  flown! 
Oh !  it  was  not  so  simple  a  flight  —  as  you  would 
realize  if  you  knew  the  place.  The  street,  which 
the  window  overlooked,  was  bounded  by  a  blank 
wall,  on  the  opposite  side,  for  thirty  or  forty  yards 
along;  and  as  we  had  been  having  heavy  rains,  it  was 
full  of  glutinous  mud.  Furthermore,  the  boy  whom 
I  had  left  in  charge  had  been  sitting  in  the  doorway 


172     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

immediately  below  the  office  window  watching  for 
my  return  ever  since  his  last  visit  to  the  room 
above  .  .  ." 

"  She  must  have  bribed  him,"  I  said  bitterly  — 
"  or  corrupted  him  with  her  infernal  blandishments." 

"  I'll  swear  she  did  not,"  rapped  Smith  decisively. 
"  I  know  my  man,  and  I'll  swear  she  did  not.  There 
were  no  marks  in  the  mud  of  the  road  to  show  that 
a  ladder  had  been  placed  there;  moreover,  nothing 
of  the  kind  could  have  been  attempted  whilst  the 
boy  was  sitting  in  the  doorway;  that  was  evident. 
In  short,  she  did  not  descend  into  the  roadway  and 
did  not  come  out  by  the  door  .  .  ." 

"  Was  there  a  gallery  outside  the  window?  " 

"  No;  it  was  impossible  to  climb  to  right  or  left  of 
the  window  or  up  on  to  the  roof.  I  convinced  my- 
self of  that." 

"  But,  my  dear  man !  "  I  cried,  "  you  are  eliminat- 
ing every  natural  mode  of  egress !  Nothing  remains 
but  flight." 

"  I  am  aware,  Petrie,  that  nothing  remains  but 
flight;  in  other  words  I  have  never  to  this  day  under- 
stood how  she  quitted  the  room.  I  only  know  that 
she  did." 

"And  then?" 

"  I  saw  in  this  incredible  escape  the  cunning  hand 
of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  —  saw  it  at  once.  Peace  was 
ended ;  and  I  set  to  work  along  certain  channels  with- 
out delay.  In  this  manner  I  got  on  the  track  at  last, 
and  learned,  beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt,  that  the 


ONE  DAY  IN  RANGOON  173 

Chinese  doctor  lived  —  nay !  was  actually  on  his  way 
to  Europe  again !  " 

There  followed  a  short  silence.     Then: 

"  I  suppose  it's  a  mystery  that  will  be  cleared  up 
some  day,"  concluded  Smith;  "  but  to  date  the  riddle 
remains  intact."  He  glanced  at  the  clock.  "  I 
have  an  appointment  with  Weymouth;  therefore, 
leaving  you  to  the  task  of  solving  this  problem  which 
thus  far  has  defied  my  own  efforts,  I  will  get  along." 

He  read  a  query  in  my  glance. 

"  Oh!  I  shall  not  be  late,"  he  added;  "  I  think  I 
may  venture  out  alone  on  this  occasion  without  per- 
sonal danger." 

Nayland  Smith  went  upstairs  to  dress,  leaving  me 
seated  at  my  writing  table,  deep  in  thought.  My 
notes  upon  the  renewed  activity  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu 
were  stacked  at  my  left  hand,  and,  opening  a  new 
writing  block,  I  commenced  to  add  to  them  particu- 
lars of  this  surprising  event  in  Rangoon  which  prop- 
erly marked  the  opening  of  the  Chinaman's  second 
campaign.  Smith  looked  in  at  the  door  on  his  way 
out,  but  seeing  me  thus  engaged,  did  not  disturb  me. 

I  think  I  have  made  it  sufficiently  evident  in  these 
records  that  my  practice  was  not  an  extensive  one, 
and  my  hour  for  receiving  patients  arrived  and 
passed  with  only  two  professional  interruptions. 

My  task  concluded,  I  glanced  at  the  clock,  and 
determined  to  devote  the  remainder  of  the  evening 
to  a  little  private  investigation  of  my  own.  From 
Nayland  Smith  I  had  preserved  the  matter  a  secret, 


174    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

largely  because  I  feared  his  ridicule ;  but  I  had  by  no 
means  forgotten  that  I  had  seen,  or  had  strongly 
imagined  that  I  had  seen,  Karamaneh  —  that  beauti- 
ful anomaly,  who  (in  modern  London)  asserted  her- 
self to  be  a  slave  —  in  the  shop  of  an  antique  dealer 
not  a  hundred  yards  from  the  British  Museum  1 

A  theory  was  forming  in  my  brain,  which  I  was 
burningly  anxious  to  put  to  the  test.  I  remembered 
how,  two  years  before,  I  had  met  Karamaneh  near  to 
this  same  spot;  and  I  had  heard  Inspector  Wey- 
mouth  assert  positively  that  Fu-Manchu's  headquar- 
ters were  no  longer  in  the  East  End,  as  of  yore. 
There  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  distinct  probability  that 
a  suitable  center  had  been  established  for  his  recep- 
tion in  this  place,  so  much  less  likely  to  be  suspected 
by  the  authorities.  Perhaps  I  attached  too  great  a 
value  to  what  may  have  been  a  delusion;  perhaps  my 
theory  rested  upon  no  more  solid  foundation  than  the 
belief  that  I  had  seen  Karamaneh  in  the  shop  of  the 
curio  dealer.  If  her  appearance  there  should  prove 
to  have  been  phantasmal,  the  structure  of  my  theory 
would  be  shattered  at  its  base.  To-night  I  should 
test  my  premises,  and  upon  the  result  of  my  investi- 
gations determine  my  future  action. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  SILVER  BUDDHA 

MUSEUM  STREET  certainly  did  not  seem  a 
likely  spot  for  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  to  establish 
himself,  yet,  unless  my  imagination  had  strangely 
deceived  me,  from  the  window  of  the  antique  dealer 
who  traded  under  the  name  of  J.  Salaman,  those  won- 
derful eyes  of  Karamaneh,  like  the  velvet  midnight 
of  the  Orient,  had  looked  out  at  me. 

As  I  paced  slowly  along  the  pavement  toward 
that  lighted  window,  my  heart  was  beating  far  from 
normally,  and  I  cursed  the  folly  which,  in  spite  of 
all,  refused  to  die,  but  lingered  on,  poisoning  my 
life.  Comparative  quiet  reigned  in  Museum  Street, 
at  no  time  a  busy  thoroughfare,  and,  excepting  an- 
other shop  at  the  Museum  end,  commercial  activities 
had  ceased  there.  The  door  of  a  block  of  residen- 
tial cha'mbers  almost  immediately  opposite  to  the 
shop  which  was  my  objective,  threw  out  a  beam  of 
light  across  the  pavement,  but  not  more  than  two  or 
three  people  were  visible  upon  either  side  of  the 
street. 

I  turned  the  knob  of  the  door  and  entered  the 
shop. 

The  same  dark  and  immobile  individual  whom  I 
175 


176    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

had  seen  before,  and  whose  nationality  defied  con- 
jecture, came  out  from  the  curtained  doorway  at  the 
back  to  greet  me. 

"  Good  evening,  sir,"  he  said  monotonously,  with 
a  slight  inclination  of  the  head;  "  is  there  anything 
which  you  desire  to  inspect?  " 

"  I  merely  wish  to  take  a  look  around,"  I  replied. 
"  I  have  no  particular  item  in  view." 

The  shop  man  inclined  his  head  again,  swept  a 
yellow  hand  comprehensively  about,  as  if  to  include 
the  entire  stock,  and  seated  himself  on  a  chair  behind 
the  counter. 

I  lighted  a  cigarette  with  such  an  air  of  non- 
chalance as  I  could  summon  to  the  operation,  and 
began  casually  to  inspect  the  varied  objects  of  inter- 
est loading  the  shelves  and  tables  about  me.  I  am 
bound  to  confess  that  I  retain  no  one  definite  impres- 
sion of  this  tour.  Vases  I  handled,  statuettes,  Egyp- 
tian scarabs,  bead  necklaces,  illuminated  missals, 
portfolios  of  old  prints,  jade  ornaments,  bronzes, 
fragments  of  rare  lace,  early  printed  books,  As- 
syrian tablets,  daggers,  Roman  rings,  and  a  hundred 
other  curiosities,  leisurely,  and  I  trust  with  apparent 
interest,  yet  without  forming  the  slightest  impres- 
sion respecting  any  one  of  them. 

Probably  I  employed  myself  in  this  way  for  half 
an  hour  or  more,  and  whilst  my  hands  busied  them- 
selves among  the  stock  of  J.  Salaman,  my  mind  was 
occupied  entirely  elsewhere.  Furtively  I  was  study- 
ing the  shopman  himself,  a  human  presentment  of  a 


THE  SILVER  BUDDHA  177' 

Chinese  idol;  I  was  listening  and  watching;  especially 
I  was  watching  the  curtained  doorway  at  the  back 
of  the  shop. 

"  We  close  at  about  this  time,  sir,"  the  man  inter- 
rupted me,  speaking  in  the  emotionless,  monotonous 
voice  which  I  had  noted  before. 

I  replaced  upon  the  glass  counter  a  little  Sekhet 
boat,  carved  in  wood  and  highly  colored,  and  glanced 
up  with  a  start.  Truly  my  methods  were  amateur- 
ish; I  had  learnt  nothing;  I  was  unlikely  to  learn  any- 
thing. I  wondered  how  Nayland  Smith  would  have 
conducted  such  an  inquiry,  and  I  racked  my  brains 
for  some  means  of  penetrating  into  the  recesses  of 
the  establishment.  Indeed,  I  had  been  seeking  such 
a  plan  for  the  past  half  an  hour,  but  my  mind  had 
proved  incapable  of  suggesting  one. 

Why  I  did  not  admit  failure  I  cannot  imagine,  but, 
instead,  I  began  to  tax  my  brains  anew  for  some 
means  of  gaining  further  time;  and,  as  I  looked 
about  the  place,  the  shopman  very  patiently  await- 
ing my  departure,  I  observed  an  open  case  at  the 
back  of  the  counter.  The  three  lower  shelves  were 
empty,  but  upon  the  fourth  shelf  squatted  a  silver 
Buddha. 

"  I  should  like  to  examine  the  silver  image  yon- 
der," I  said;  "  what  price  are  you  asking  for  it?  " 

"  It  is  not  for  sale,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  with  a 
greater  show  of  animation  than  he  had  yet  exhibited. 

"  Not  for  sale !  "  I  said,  my  eyes  ever  seeking  the 
curtained  doorway;  "  how's  that?  " 


178     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  It  is  sold." 

"  Well,  even  so,  there  can  be  no  objection  to  my 
examining  it?  " 

"  It  is  not  for  sale,  sir." 

Such  a  rebuff  from  a  tradesman  would  have  been 
more  than  sufficient  to  call  for  a  sharp  retort  at  any 
other  time,  but  now  it  excited  the  strangest  suspicions. 
The  street  outside  looked  comparatively  deserted, 
and  prompted,  primarily,  by  an  emotion  which  I  did 
not  pause  to  analyze,  I  adopted  a  singular  measure ; 
without  doubt  I  relied  upon  the  unusual  powers 
vested  in  Nayland  Smith  to  absolve  me  in  the  event 
of  error.  I  made  as  if  to  go  out  into  the  street,  then 
turned,  leaped  past  the  shopman,  ran  behind  the 
counter,  and  grasped  at  the  silver  Buddha ! 

That  I  was  likely  to  be  arrested  for  attempted 
larceny  I  cared  not;  the  idea  that  Karamaneh  was 
concealed  somewhere  in  the  building  ruled  abso- 
lutely, and  a  theory  respecting  this  silver  image  had 
taken  possession  of  my  mind.  Exactly  what  I  ex- 
pected to  happen  at  that  moment  I  cannot  say,  but 
what  actually  happened  was  far  more  startling  than 
anything  I  could  have  imagined. 

At  the  instant  that  I  grasped  the  figure  I  realized 
that  it  was  attached  to  the  woodwork;  in  the  next  I 
knew  that  it  was  a  handle  ...  as  I  tried  to  pull  it 
toward  me  I  became  aware  that  this  handle  was  the 
handle  of  a  door.  For  that  door  swung  open  before 
me,  and  I  found  myself  at  the  foot  of  a  flight  of 
heavily  carpeted  stairs. 


THE  SILVER  BUDDHA  179 

Anxious  as  I  had  been  to  proceed  a  moment  be- 
fore, I  was  now  trebly  anxious  to  retire,  and  for 
this  reason:  on  the  bottom  step  of  the  stair,  facing 
me,  stood  Dr.  Fu-Manchu! 


CHAPTER  XIX 
DR.  FU-MANCHU'S  LABORATORY 

I  CANNOT  conceive  that  any  ordinary  mortal 
ever  attained  to  anything  like  an  intimacy  with 
Dr.  Fu-Manchu;  I  cannot  believe  that  any  man  could 
ever  grow  used  to  his  presence,  could  eve:  cease  to 
fear  him.  I  suppose  I  had  set  eyes  upon  Fu-Manchu 
some  five  or  six  times  prior  to  this  occasion,  and 
now  he  was  dressed  in  the  manner  which  I  always  as- 
sociated with  him,  probably  because  it  was  thus  I 
first  saw  him.  He  wore  a  plain  yellow  robe,  and, 
with  his  pointed  chin  resting  upon  his  bosom,  he 
looked  down  at  me,  revealing  a  great  expanse  of  the 
marvelous  brow  with  its  sparse,  neutral-colored  hair. 

Never  in  my  experience  have  I  known  such  force 
to  dwell  in  the  glance  of  any  human  eye  as  dwelt  in 
that  of  this  uncanny  being.  His  singular  affliction 
(if  affliction  it  were),  the  film  or  slight  membrane 
which  sometimes  obscured  the  oblique  eyes,  was  par- 
ticularly evident  at  the  moment  that  I  crossed  the 
threshold,  but  now,  as  I  looked  up  at  Dr.  Fu-Man- 
chu, it  lifted  —  revealing  the  eyes  in  all  their  emerald 
greenness. 

The  idea  of  physical  attack  upon  this  incredible 
being  seemed  childish  —  inadequate.  But,  follow- 

180 


DR.  FU-MANCHU'S  LABORATORY     181 

ing  that  first  instant  of  stupefaction,  I  forced  myself 
to  advance  upon  him. 

A  dull,  crushing  blow  descended  on  the  top  of  my 
skull,  and  I  became  oblivious  of  all  things. 

My  return  to  consciousness  was  accompanied  by 
tremendous  pains  in  my  head,  whereby,  from  previ- 
ous experience,  I  knew  that  a  sandbag  had  been  used 
against  me  by  some  one  in  the  shop,  presumably  by 
the  immobile  shopman.  This  awakening  was  ac- 
companied by  none  of  those  hazy  doubts  respecting 
previous  events  and  present  surroundings  which  are 
the  usual  symptoms  of  revival  from  sudden  uncon- 
sciousness; even  before  I  opened  my  eyes,  before  I 
had  more  than  a  partial  command  of  my  senses,  I 
knew  that,  with  my  wrists  handcuffed  behind  me,  I 
lay  in  a  room  which  was  also  occupied  by  Dr.  Fu- 
Manchu.  This  absolute  certainty  of  the  Chinaman's 
presence  was  evidenced,  not  by  my  senses,  but  only 
by  an  inner  consciousness,  and  the  same  that  always 
awoke  into  life  at  the  approach  not  only  of  Fu- 
Manchu  in  person  but  of  certain  of  his  uncanny  serv- 
ants. 

A  faint  perfume  hung  in  the  air  about  me;  I  do 
not  mean  that  of  any  essence  or  of  any  incense,  but 
rather  the  smell  which  is  suffused  by  Oriental  furni- 
ture, by  Oriental  draperies ;  the  indefinable  but  unmis- 
takable perfume  of  the  East. 

Thus,  London  has  a  distinct  smell  of  its  own,  and 
so  has  Paris,  whilst  the  difference  between  Mar- 
seilles and  Suez,  for  instance,  is  even  more  marked. 


182     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

Now,  the  atmosphere  surrounding  me  was  Eastern, 
but  not  of  the  East  that  I  knew;  rather  it  was  Far 
Eastern.  Perhaps  I  do  not  make  myself  very  clear, 
but  to  me  there  was  a  mysterious  significance  in 
that  perfumed  atmosphere.  I  opened  my  eyes. 

I  lay  upon  a  long  low  settee,  in  a  fairly  large 
room  which  was  furnished  as  I  had  anticipated  in  an 
absolutely  Oriental  fashion.  The  two  windows  were 
so  screened  as  to  have  lost,  from  the  interior  point 
of  view,  all  resemblance  to  European  windows,  and 
the  whole  structure  of  the  room  had  been  altered  in 
conformity,  bearing  out  my  idea  that  the  place  had 
been  prepared  for  Fu-Manchu's  reception  some  time 
before  his  actual  return.  I  doubt  if,  East  or  West, 
a  duplicate  of  that  singular  apartment  could  be 
found. 

The  end  in  which  I  lay,  was,  as  I  have  said,  typical 
of  an  Eastern  house,  and  a  large,  ornate  lantern 
hung  from  the  ceiling  almost  directly  above  me. 
The  further  end  of  the  room  was  occupied  by  tall 
cases,  some  of  them  containing  books,  but  the  major- 
ity filled  with  scientific  paraphernalia;  rows  of  flasks 
and  jars,  frames  of  test-tubes,  retorts,  scales,  and 
other  objects  of  the  laboratory.  At  a  large  and 
very  finely  carved  table  sat  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  a  yellow 
and  faded  volume  open  before  him,  and  some  dark 
red  fluid,  almost  like  blood,  bubbling  in  a  test-tube 
which  he  held  over  the  flame  of  a  Bunsen-burner. 

The  enormously  long  nail  of  his  right  index  finger 
rested  upon  the  opened  page  of  the  book  to  which 


DR.  FU-MANCHU'S  LABORATORY     183 

he  seemed  constantly  to  refer,  dividing  his  attention 
between  the  volume,  the  contents  of  the  test-tube,  and 
the  progress  of  a  second  experiment,  or  possibly  a 
part  of  the  same,  which  was  taking  place  upon  an- 
other corner  of  the  littered  table. 

A  huge  glass  retort  (the  bulb  was  fully  two  feet 
in  diameter),  fitted  with  a  Liebig's  Condenser,  rested 
in  a  metal  frame,  and  within  the  bulb,  floating  in  an 
oily  substance,  was  a  fungus  some  six  inches  high, 
shaped  like  a  toadstool,  but  of  a  brilliant  and  venom- 
ous orange  color.  Three  flat  tubes  of  light  were  so 
arranged  as  to  cast  violet  rays  upward  into  the  re- 
tort, and  the  receiver,  wherein  condensed  the  product 
of  this  strange  experiment,  contained  some  drops  of 
a  red  fluid  which  may  have  been  identical  with  that 
boiling  in  the  test-tube. 

These  things  I  perceived  at  a  glance:  then  the 
filmy  eyes  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  were  raised  from  the 
book,  turned  in  my  direction,  and  all  else  was  for- 
gotten. 

"  I  regret,"  came  the  sibilant  voice,  "  that  un- 
pleasant measures  were  necessary,  but  hesitation 
would  have  been  fatal.  I  trust,  Dr.  Petrie,  that  you 
suffer  no  inconvenience?  " 

To  this  speech  no  reply  was  possible,  and  I  at- 
tempted none. 

"  You  have  long  been  aware  of  my  esteem  for 
your  acquirements,"  continued  the  Chinaman,  his 
voice  occasionally  touching  deep  guttural  notes,  "  and 
you  will  appreciate  the  pleasure  which  this  visit  af- 


1 84    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

fords  me.  I  kneel  at  the  feet  of  my  silver  Buddha. 
I  look  to  you,  when  you  shall  have  overcome  your 
prejudices  —  due  to  ignorance  of  my  true  motives 
—  to  assist  me  in  establishing  that  intellectual  control 
which  is  destined  to  be  the  new  World  Force.  I 
bear  you  no  malice  for  your  ancient  enmity,  and  even 
now  " —  he  waved  one  yellow  hand  toward  the  re- 
tort— "  I  am  conducting  an  experiment  designed  to 
convert  you  from  your  misunderstanding,  and  to  ad- 
just your  perspective." 

Quite  unemotionally  he  spoke,  then  turned  again 
to  his  book,  his  test-tube  and  retort,  in  the  most 
matter-of-fact  way  imaginable.  I  do  not  think  the 
most  frenzied  outburst  on  his  part,  the  most  fiendish 
threats,  could  have  produced  such  effect  upon  me  as 
those  cold  and  carefully  calculated  words,  spoken  in 
that  unique  voice  which  rang  about  the  room  sibi- 
lantly.  In  its  tones,  in  the  glance  of  the  green  eyes, 
in  the  very  pose  of  the  gaunt,  high-shouldered  body, 
there  was  power  —  force. 

I  counted  myself  lost,  and  in  view  of  the  doctor's 
words,  studied  the  progress  of  the  experiment  with 
frightful  interest.  But  a  few  moments  sufficed  in 
which  to  realize  that,  for  all  my  training,  I  knew 
as  little  of  chemistry  —  of  chemistry  as  understood 
by  this  man's  genius  —  as  a  junior  student  in  surgery 
knows  of  trephining.  The  process  in  operation  was 
a  complete  mystery  to  me;  the  means  and  the  end 
alike  incomprehensible. 

Thus,  in  the  heavy  silence  of  that  room,  a  silence 


DR.  FU-MANCHU'S  LABORATORY     185 

only  broken  by  the  regular  bubbling  from  the  test- 
tube,  I  found  my  attention  straying  from  the  table  to 
the  other  objects  surrounding  it;  and  at  one  of  them 
my  gaze  stopped  and  remained  chained  with  horror. 

It  was  a  glass  jar,  some  five  feet  in  height  and 
filled  with  viscous  fluid  of  a  light  amber  color.  Out 
from  this  peered  a  hideous,  dog-like  face,  low 
browed,  with  pointed  ears  and  a  nose  almost  hog- 
gishly flat.  By  the  death-grin  of  the  face  the  gleam- 
ing fangs  were  revealed;  and  the  body,  the  long  yel- 
low-gray body,  rested,  or  seemed  to  rest,  upon  short, 
malformed  legs,  whilst  one  long  limp  arm,  the  right, 
hung  down  straightly  in  the  preservative.  The  left 
arm  had  been  severed  above  the  elbow. 

Fu-Manchu,  finding  his  experiment  to  be  proceed- 
ing favorably,  lifted  his  eyes  to  me  again. 

"  You  are  interested  in  my  poor  Cynocephalyte?  " 
he  said;  and  his  eyes  were  filmed  like  the  eyes  of  one 
afflicted  with  cataract.  "  He  was  a  devoted  servant, 
Dr.  Petrie,  but  the  lower  influences  in  his  genealogy 
sometimes  conquered.  Then  he  got  out  of  hand; 
and  at  last  he  was  so  ungrateful  toward  those  who 
had  educated  him,  that,  in  one  of  those  paroxysms 
of  his,  he  attacked  and  killed  a  most  faithful  Bur- 
man,  one  of  my  oldest  followers." 

Fu-Manchu  returned  to  his  experiment. 

Not  the  slightest  emotion  had  he  exhibited  thus 
far,  but  had  chatted  with  me  as  any  other  scientist 
might  chat  with  a  friend  who  casually  visits  his 
laboratory.  The  horror  of  the  thing  was  playing 


1 86    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

havoc  with  my  own  composure,  however.  There  I 
lay,  fettered,  in  the  same  room  with  this  man  whose 
existence  was  a  menace  to  the  entire  white  race, 
whilst  placidly  he  pursued  an  experiment  designed, 
if  his  own  words  were  believable,  to  cut  me  off  from 
my  kind  —  to  wreak  some  change,  psychological  or 
physiological  I  knew  not;  to  place  me,  it  might  be, 
upon  a  level  with  such  brute-things  as  that  which 
now  hung,  half  floating,  in  the  glass  jar! 

Something  I  knew  of  the  history  of  that  ghastly 
specimen,  that  thing  neither  man  nor  ape ;  for  within 
my  own  knowledge  had  it  not  attempted  the  life  of 
Nayland  Smith,  and  was  it  not  /  who,  with  an  ax, 
had  maimed  it  in  the  instant  of  one  of  its  last  slay- 
ings? 

Of  these  things  Dr.  Fu»Manchu  was  well  aware, 
so  that  his  placid  speech  was  doubly,  trebly  horrible 
to  my  ears.  I  sought,  furtively,  to  move  my  arms, 
only  to  realize  that,  as  I  had  anticipated,  the  hand- 
cuffs were  chained  to  a  ring  in  the  wall  behind  me. 
The  establishments  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  were  always 
well  provided  with  such  contrivances  as  these. 

I  uttered  a  short,  harsh  laugh.  Fu-Manchu  stood 
up  slowly  from  the  table,  and,  placing  the  test-tube 
in  a  rack,  stood  the  latter  carefully  upon  a  shelf  at 
his  side. 

"  I  am  happy  to  find  you  in  such  good  humor,"  he 
said  softly.  "Other  affairs  call  me;  and,  in  my 
absence,  that  profound  knowledge  of  chemistry,  of 
which  I  have  had  evidence  in  the  past,  will  enable  you 


DR.  FU-MANCHU'S  LABORATORY     187 

to  follow  with  intelligent  interest  the  action  of  these 
violet  rays  upon  this  exceptionally  fine  specimen  of 
Siberian  amanita  muscar'ia.  At  some  future  time, 
possibly  when  you  are  my  guest  in  China  —  which 
country  I  am  now  making  arrangements  for  you  to 
visit  —  I  shall  discuss  with  you  some  lesser-known 
properties  of  this  species;  and  I  may  say  that  one  of 
your  first  tasks  when  you  commence  your  duties  as 
assistant  in  my  laboratory  in  Kiang-su,  will  be  to  con- 
duct a  series  of  twelve  experiments,  which  I  have  out- 
lined, into  other  potentialities  of  this  unique  fungus." 
He  walked  quietly  to  a  curtained  doorway,  with 
his  cat-like  yet  awkward  gait,  lifted  the  drapery,  and, 
with  a  slight  nod  in  my  direction,  went  out  of  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  CROSS  BAR 

HOW  long  I  lay  there  alone  I  had  no  means  of 
computing.  My  mind  was  busy  with  many 
matters,  but  principally  concerned  with  my  fate  in 
the  immediate  future.  That  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  en- 
tertained for  mfe  a  singular  kind  of  regard,  I  had 
had  evidence  before.  He  had  formed  the  erroneous 
opinion  that  I  was  an  advanced  scientist  who  could 
be  of  use  to  him  in  his  experiments  and  I  was  aware 
that  he  cherished  a  project  of  transporting  me  to 
some  place  in  China  where  his  principal  laboratory 
was  situated.  Respecting  the  means  which  he  pro- 
posed to  employ,  I  was  unlikely  to  forget  that  this 
man,  who  had  penetrated  further  along  certain  by- 
ways of  science  than  seemed  humanly  possible,  un- 
doubtedly was  master  of  a  process  for  producing  arti- 
ficial catalepsy.  It  was  my  lot,  then,  to  be  packed  in 
a  chest  (to  all  intents  and  purposes  a  dead  man  for 
the  time  being)  and  despatched  to  the  interior  of 
China ! 

What  a  fool  I  had  been.  To  think  that  I  had 
learned  nothing  from  my  long  and  dreadful  experi- 
ence of  the  methods  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu ;  to  think  that 
I  had  come  alone  in  quest  of  him;  that,  leaving  no 

188 


THE  CROSS  BAR  189 

trace  behind  me,  I  had  deliberately  penetrated  to  his 
secret  abode ! 

I  have  said  that  my  wrists  were  manacled  behind 
me,  the  manacles  being  attached  to  a  chain  fastened 
in  the  wall.  I  now  contrived,  with  extreme  difficulty, 
to  reverse  the  position  of  my  hands;  that  is  to  say, 
I  climbed  backward  through  the  loop  formed  by  my 
fettered  arms,  so  that  instead  of  their  being  locked 
behind  me,  they  now  were  locked  in  front. 

Then  I  began  to  examine  the  fetters,  learning,  as 
I  had  anticipated,  that  they  fastened  with  a  lock. 
I  sat  gazing  at  the  steel  bracelets  in  the  light  of  the 
lamp  which  swung  over  my  head,  and  it  became  ap- 
parent to  me  that  I  had  gained  little  by  my  con- 
tortion. 

A  slight  noise  disturbed  these  unpleasant  reveries. 
It  was  nothing  less  than  the  rattling  of  keys! 

For  a  moment  I  wondered  if  I  had  heard  aright, 
or  if  the  sound  portended  the  coming  of  some  serv- 
ant of  the  doctor,  who  was  locking  up  the  establish- 
ment for  the  night.  The  jangling  sound  was  re- 
peated, and  in  such  a  way  that  I  could  not  suppose 
it  to  be  accidental.  Some  one  was  deliberately  rat- 
tling a  small  bunch  of  keys  in  an  adjoining  room. 

And  now  my  heart  leaped  wildly  —  then  seemed 
to  stand  still. 

With  a  low  whistling  cry  a  little  gray  shape  shot 
through  the  doorway  by  which  Fu-Manchu  had  re- 
tired, and  rolled,  like  a  ball  of  fluff  blown  by  the 
wind,  completely  under  the  table  which  bore  the 


190    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

weird  scientific  appliances  of  the  Chinaman;  the  ad- 
vent of  the  gray  object  was  accompanied  by  a  fur- 
ther rattling  of  keys. 

My  fear  left  me,  and  a  mighty  anxiety  took  its 
place.  This  creature  which  now  crouched  chattering 
at  me  from  beneath  the  big  table  was  Fu-Manchu's 
marmoset,  and  in  the  intervals  of  its  chattering  and 
grimacing,  it  nibbled,  speculatively,  at  the  keys  upon 
the  ring  which  it  clutched  in  its  tiny  hands.  Key 
after  key  it  sampled  in  this  manner,  evincing  a  grow- 
ing dissatisfaction  with  the  uncrackable  nature  of  its 
find. 

One  of  those  keys  might  be  that  of  the  handcuffs ! 

I  could  not  believe  that  the  tortures  of  Tantulus 
were  greater  than  were  mine  at  this  moment.  In 
all  my  hopes  of  rescue  or  release,  I  had  included 
nothing  so  strange,  so  improbable  as  this.  A  sort 
of  awe  possessed  me;  for  if  by  this  means  the  key 
which  should  release  me  should  come  into  my  posses- 
sion, how,  ever  again,  could  I  doubt  a  beneficent 
Providence  ? 

But  they  were  not  yet  in  my  possession;  more- 
over, the  key  of  the  handcuffs  might  not  be  amongst 
the  bunch. 

Were  there  no  means  whereby  I  could  induce  the 
marmoset  to  approach  me? 

Whilst  I  racked  my  brains  for  some  scheme,  the 
little  animal  took  the  matter  out  of  my  hands.  Toss- 
ing the  ring  with  its  jangling  contents  a  yard  or  so 
across  the  carpet  in  my  direction,  it  leaped  in  pursuit, 


THE  CROSS  BAR  191 

picked  up  the  ring,  whirled  it  over  its  head,  and  then 
threw  a  complete  somersault  around  it.  Now  it 
snatched  up  the  keys  again,  and  holding  them  close 
to  its  ear,  rattled  them  furiously.  Finally,  with  an 
incredible  spring,  it  leaped  onto  the  chain  supporting 
the  lamp  above  my  head,  and  with  the  garish  shade 
swinging  and  spinning  wildly,  clung  there  looking 
down  at  me  like  an  acrobat  on  a  trapeze.  The  tiny, 
bluish  face,  completely  framed  in  grotesque  whisk- 
ers, enhanced  the  illusion  of  an  acrobatic  comedian. 
Never  for  a  moment  did  it  release  its  hold  upon  the 
key-ring. 

My  suspense  now  was  intolerable.  I  feared  to 
move,  lest,  alarming  the  marmoset,  it  should  run  off 
again,  taking  the  keys  with  it.  So  as  I  lay  there, 
looking  up  at  the  little  creature  swinging  above  me, 
the  second  wonder  of  the  night  came  to  pass. 

A  voice  that  I  could  never  forget,  strive  how  I 
would,  a  voice  that  haunted  my  dreams  by  night, 
and  for  which  by  day  I  was  ever  listening,  cried  out 
from  some  adjoining  room. 

"  Ta'ala  Una!  "  it  called.     "  Titala  Una,  Peko!  " 

It  was  Karamaneh! 

The  effect  upon  the  marmoset  was  instantaneous. 
Down  came  the  bunch  of  keys  upon  one  side  of  the 
&hade,  almost  falling  on  my  head,  and  down  leaped 
the  ape  upon  the  other.  In  two  leaps  it  had  tra- 
versed the  room  and  had  vanished  through  the  cur- 
tained doorway. 

If  sver  I  had  need  of  coolness  it  was  now;  the 


192     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANXHU 

slightest  mistake  would  be  fatal.  The  keys  had 
slipped  from  the  mattress  of  the  divan,  and  now  lay 
just  beyond  reach  of  my  fingers.  Rapidly  I  changed 
my  position,  and  sought,  without  undue  noise,  to 
move  the  keys  with  my  foot. 

I  had  actually  succeeded  in  sliding  them  back  on 
to  the  mattress,  when,  unheralded  by  any  audible 
footstep,  Karamaneh  came  through  the  doorway, 
holding  the  marmoset  in  her  arms.  She  wore  a  dress 
of  fragile  muslin  material,  and  out  from  its  folds 
protruded  one  silk-stockinged  foot,  resting  in  a  high- 
heeled  red  shoe.  .  .  . 

For  a  moment  she  stood  watching  me,  with  a  sort 
of  enforced  composure;  then  her  glance  strayed  to 
the  keys  lying  upon  the  floor.  Slowly,  and  with  her 
eyes  fixed  again  upon  my  face,  she  crossed  the  room, 
stooped,  and  took  up  the  key-ring. 

It  was  one  of  the  poignant  moments  of  my  life; 
for  by  that  simple  act  all  my  hopes  had  been  shat- 
tered ! 

Any  poor  lingering  doubt  that  I  may  have  had, 
left  me  now.  Had  the  slightest  spark  of  friendship 
animated  the  bosom  of  Karamaneh,  most  certainly 
she  would  have  overlooked  the  presence  of  the  keys 
—  of  the  keys  which  represented  my  one  hope  of 
escape  from  the  clutches  of  the  fiendish  Chinaman. 

There  is  a  silence  more  eloquent  than  words. 
For  half  a  minute  or  more,  Karamaneh  stood  watch- 
ing me  —  forcing  herself  to  watch  me  —  and  I 
looked  up  at  her  with  a  concentrated  gaze  in  which 


THE  CROSS  BAR  193 

rage  and  reproach  must  have  been  strangely  mingled. 

What  eyes  she  had!  —  of  that  blackly  lustrous 
sort  nearly  always  associated  with  unusually  dark 
complexions;  but  Karamaneh's  complexion  was 
peachlike,  or  rather  of  an  exquisite  and  delicate  fair- 
ness which  reminded  me  of  the  petal  of  a  rose.  By 
some  I  have  been  accused  of  raving  about  this  girl's, 
beauty,  but  only  by  those  who  had  not  met  her;  for 
indeed  she  was  astonishingly  lovely. 

At  last  her  eyes  fell,  the  long  lashes  drooped  upon 
her  cheeks.  She  turned  and  walked  slowly  to  the 
chair  in  which  Fu-Manchu  had  sat.  Placing  the 
keys  upon  the  table  amid  the  scientific  litter,  she 
rested  one  dimpled  elbow  upon  the  yellow  page  of 
the  book,  and  with  her  chin  in  her  palm,  again  di- 
rected upon  me  that  enigmatical  gaze. 

I  dared  not  think  of  the  past,  of  the  past  in  which 
this  beautiful,  treacherous  girl  had  played  a  part; 
yet,  watching  her,  I  could  not  believe,  even  now,  that 
she  was  false  1  My  state  was  truly  a  pitiable  one;  I 
could  have  cried  out  in  sheer  anguish.  With  her 
long  lashes  partly  lowered,  she  watched  me  awhile, 
then  spoke;  and  her  voice  was  music  which  seemed 
to  mock  me;  every  inflection  of  that  elusive  accent 
reopened,  lancet-like,  the  ancient  wound. 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so?  "  she  said,  almost 
in  a  whisper.  "  By  what  right  do  you  reproach  me? 
—  Have  you  ever  offered  me  friendship,  that  I 
should  repay  you  with  friendship?  When  first  you 
came  to  the  house  where  I  was,  by  the  river  —  came. 


194    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

to  save  some  one  from  "  (there  was  the  familiar  hesi- 
tation which  always  preceded  the  name  of  Fu-Man- 
chu)  "  from  —  him,  you  treated  me  as  your  enemy, 
although  —  I  would  have  been  your  friend  .  .  ." 

There  was  appeal  in  the  soft  voice,  but  I  laughed 
mockingly,  and  threw  myself  back  upon  the  divan. 
Karamaneh  stretched  out  her  hands  toward  me,  and 
I  shall  never  forget  the  expression  which  flashed 
into  those  glorious  eyes;  but,  seeing  me  intolerant 
of  her  appeal,  she  drew  back  and  quickly  turned  her 
head  aside.  Even  in  this  hour  of  extremity,  of  im- 
potent wrath,  I  could  find  no  contempt  in  my  heart 
for  her  feeble  hypocrisy;  with  all  the  old  wonder  I 
watched  that  exquisite  profile,  and  Karamaneh's  very 
deceitfulness  was  a  salve  —  for  had  she  not  cared 
she  would  not  have  attempted  it! 

Suddenly  she  stood  up,  taking  the  keys  in  her 
hands,  and  approached  me. 

"  Not  by  word,  nor  by  look,"  she  said,  quietly, 
"  have  you  asked  for  my  friendship,  but  because  I 
cannot  bear  you  to  think  of  me  as  you  do,  I  will 
prove  that  I  am  not  the  hypocrite  and  the  liar  you 
think  me.  You  will  not  trust  me,  but  I  will  trust 
you." 

I  looked  up  into  her  eyes,  and  knew  a  pagan  joy 
when  they  faltered  before  my  searching  gaze.  She 
threw  herself  upon  her  knees  beside  me,  and  the  faint 
exquisite  perfume  inseparable  from  my  memories  of 
her,  became  perceptible,  and  seemed  as  of  old  to  in- 
toxicate me.  The  lock  clicked  .  .  f  and  I  was  free. 


THE  CROSS  BAR  195 

Karamaneh  rose  swiftly  to  her  feet  as  I  stood  up 
and  outstretched  my  cramped  arms.  For  one  deliri- 
ous moment  her  bewitching  face  was  close  to  mine, 
and  the  dictates  of  madness  almost  ruled;  but  I 
clenched  my  teeth  and  turned  sharply  aside.  I  could 
not  trust  myself  to  speak. 

With  Fu-Manchu's  marmoset  again  gamboling  be- 
fore us,  she  walked  through  the  curtained  doorway 
into  the  room  beyond.  It  was  in  darkness,  but  I 
could  see  the  slave-girl  in  front  of  me,  a  slim  sil- 
houette, as  she  walked  to  a  screened  window,  and, 
opening  the  screen  in  the  manner  of  a  folding  door, 
also  threw  up  the  window. 

"  Look!  "  she  whispered. 

I  crept  forward  and  stood  beside  her.  I  found 
myself  looking  down  into  Museum  Street  from  a 
first-floor  window !  Belated  traffic  still  passed  along 
New  Oxford  Street  on  the  left,  but  not  a  solitary 
figure  was  visible  to  the  right,  as  far  as  I  could  see, 
and  that  was  nearly  to  the  railings  of  the  Museum. 
Immediately  opposite,  in  one  of  the  flats  which  I  had 
noticed  earlier  in  the  evening,  another  window  was 
opened.  I  turned,  and  in  the  reflected  light  saw  that 
Karamaneh  held  a  cord  in  her  hand.  Our  eyes  met 
in  the  semi-darkness. 

She  began  to  haul  the  cord  into  the  window,  and, 
looking  upward,  I  perceived  that  it  was  looped  in 
some  way  over  the  telegraph  cables  which  crossed 
the  street  at  that  point.  It  was  a  slender  cord,  and 
it  appeared  to  be  passed  across  a  joint  in  the  cables 


196    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

almost  immediately  above  the  center  of  the  roadway. 
As  it  was  hauled  in,  a  second  and  stronger  line  at- 
tached to  it  was  pulled,  in  turn,  over  the  cables,  and 
thence  in  by  the  window.  Karamaneh  twisted  a 
length  of  it  around  a  metal  bracket  fastened  in  the 
wall,  and  placed  a  light  wooden  crossbar  in  my  hand. 

"  Make  sure  that  there  is  no  one  in  the  street," 
she  said,  craning  out  and  looking  to  right  and  left, 
"  then  swing  across.  The  length  of  the  rope  is  just 
sufficient  to  enable  you  to  swing  through  the  open 
window  opposite,  and  there  is  a  mattress  inside  to 
drop  upon.  But  release  the  bar  immediately,  or  you 
may  be  dragged  back.  The  door  of  the  room  in 
which  you  will  find  yourself  is  unlocked,  and  you  have 
only  to  walk  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the  street." 

I  peered  at  the  crossbar  in  my  hand,  then  looked 
hard  at  the  girl  beside  me.  I  missed  something  of 
the  old  fire  of  her  nature ;  she  was  very  subdued,  to- 
night. 

"  Thank  you,  Karamaneh,"  I  said,  softly. 

She  suppressed  a  little  cry  as  I  spoke  her  name, 
and  drew  back  into  the  shadows. 

"  I  believe  you  are  my  friend,"  I  said,  "  but  I 
cannot  understand.  Won't  you  help  me  to  under- 
stand?" 

I  took  her  unresisting  hand,  and  drew  her  toward 
me.  My  very  soul  seemed  to  thrill  at  the  contact 
of  her  lithe  body  .  .  . 

She  was  trembling  wildly  and  seemed  to  be  trying 
to  speak,  but  although  her  lips  framed  the  words  no 


THE  CROSS  BAR  197 

sound  followed.  Suddenly  comprehension  came  to 
me.  I  looked  down  into  the  street,  hitherto  deserted 
.  .  .  and  into  the  upturned  face  of  Fu-Manchu. 

Wearing  a  heavy  fur-collared  coat,  and  with  his 
yellow,  malignant  countenance  grotesquely  horrible 
beneath  the  shade  of  a  large  tweed  motor  cap,  he 
stood  motionless,  looking  up  at  me.  That  he  had 
seen  me,  I  could  not  doubt;  but  had  he  seen  my  com- 
panion ? 

In  a  choking  whisper  Karamaneh  answered  my  un- 
spoken question. 

"He  has  not  seen  me!  I  have  done  much  for 
you;  do  in  return  a  small  thing  for  me.  Save  my 
life !  " 

She  dragged  me  back  from  the  window  and  fled 
across  the  room  to  the  weird  laboratory  where  I  had 
lain  captive.  Throwing  herself  upon  the  divan,  she 
held  out  her  white  wrists  and  glanced  significantly  at 
the  manacles. 

"  Lock  them  upon  me ! "  she  said,  rapidly. 
"Quick!  quick!" 

Great  as  was  my  mental  disturbance,  I  managed 
to  grasp  the  purpose  of  this  device.  The  very  ex- 
tremity of  my  danger  found  me  cool.  I  fastened 
the  manacles,  which  so  recently  had  confined  my  own 
wrists,  upon  the  slim  wrists  of  Karamaneh.  A  faint 
and  muffled  disturbance,  doubly  ominous  because 
there  was  nothing  to  proclaim  its  nature,  reached  me 
from  some  place  below,  on  the  ground  floor. 

"  Tie   something  around  my  mouth !  "    directed 


198     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

Karamaneh  with  nervous  rapidity.  As  I  began  to 
look  about  me: — "Tear  a  strip  from  my  dress," 
she  said;  "  do  not  hesitate  —  be  quick!  be  quick!  " 

I  seized  the  flimsy  muslin  and  tore  off  half  a  yard 
or  so  from  the  hem  of  the  skirt.  The  voice  of  Dr. 
Fu-Manchu  became  audible.  He  was  speaking  rap- 
idly, sibilantly,  and  evidently  was  approaching  — 
woud  be  upon  me  in  a  matter  of  moments.  I  fas- 
tened the  strip  of  fabric  over  the  girl's  mouth  and 
tied  it  behind,  experiencing  a  pang  half  pleasurable 
and  half  fearful  as  I  found  my  hands  in  contact  with 
the  foamy  luxuriance  of  her  hair. 

Dr.  Fu-Manchu  was  entering  the  room  immedi- 
ately beyond. 

Snatching  up  the  bunch  of  keys,  I  turned  and  ran, 
for  in  another  instant  my  retreat  would  be  cut  off. 
As  I  burst  once  more  into  the  darkened  room  I  be- 
came aware  that  a  door  on  the  further  side  of  it  was 
open;  and  framed  in  the  opening  was  the  tall,  high- 
shouldered  figure  of  the  Chinaman,  still  enveloped  in 
his  fur  coat  and  wearing  the  grotesque  cap.  As  I 
saw  him,  so  he  perceived  me ;  and  as  I  sprang  to  the 
window,  he  advanced. 

I  turned  desperately  and  hurled  the  bunch  of  keys 
with  all  my  force  into  the  dimly-seen  face  .  .  . 

Either  because  they  possessed  a  chatoyant  quality 
of  their  own  (as  I  had  often  suspected) ,  or  by  reason 
of  the  light  reflected  through  the  open  window,  the 
green  eyes  gleamed  upon  me  vividly  like  those  of  a 
giant  cat.  One  short  guttural  exclamation  paid 


THE  CROSS  BAR  199 

tribute  to  the  accuracy  of  my  aim;  then  I  had  the 
crossbar  in  my  hand.  I  threw  one  leg  across  the 
sill,  and  dire  as  was  my  extremity,  hesitated  for  an 
instant  ere  trusting  myself  to  the  flight  .  .  . 

A  vise-like  grip  fastened  upon  my  left  ankle. 

Hazily  I  became  aware  that  the  dark  room  was 
become  flooded  with  figures.  The  whole  yellow 
gang  were  upon  me  —  the  entire  murder-group  com- 
posed of  units  recruited,  from  the  darkest  place  of 
the  East ! 

I  have  never  counted  myself  a  man  of  resource, 
and  have  always  envied  Nayland  Smith  his  posses- 
sion of  that  quality,  in  him  extraordinarily  devel- 
oped; but  on  this  occasion  the  gods  were  kind  to  me, 
and  I  resorted  to  the  only  device,  perhaps,  which 
could  have  saved  me.  Without  releasing  my  hold 
upon  the  crossbar,  I  clutched  at  the  ledge  with  the 
fingers  of  both  hands  and  swung  back  into  the  room 
my  right  leg,  which  was  already  across  the  sill. 
With  all  my  strength  I  kicked  out.  My  heel  came  in 
contact,  in  sickening  contact,  with  a  human  head; 
beyond  doubt  I  had  split  the  skull  of  the  man  who 
held  me. 

The  grip  upon  my  ankle  was  released  automatic- 
ally; and  now  consigning  all  my  weight  to  the  rope  I 
slipped  forward,  as  a  diver,  across  the  broad  ledge 
and  found  myself  sweeping  through  the  night  like  a 
winged  thing  .  .  . 

The  line,  as  Karamaneh  had  assured  me,  was  of 
well-judged  length.  Down  I  swept  to  within  six  or 


200    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

seven  feet  of  the  street  level,  then  up,  at  ever  de- 
creasing speed,  toward  the  vague  oblong  of  the  open 
window  beyond. 

I  hope  I  have  been  successful,  in  some  measure,  in 
portraying  the  varied  emotions  which  it  was  my  lot 
to  experience  that  night,  and  it  may  well  seem  that 
nothing  more  exquisite  could  remain  for  me.  Yet 
it  was  written  otherwise;  for  as  I  swept  up  to  my 
goal,  describing  the  inevitable  arc  which  I  had  no 
power  to  check,  I  saw  that  one  awaited  me. 

Crouching  forward  half  out  of  the  open  window 
was  a  Burmese  dacoit,  a  cross-eyed,  leering  being 
whom  I  well  remembered  to  have  encountered  two 
years  before  in  my  dealings  with  Dr.  Fu-Manchu. 
One  bare,  sinewy  arm  held  rigidly  at  right  angles  be- 
fore his  breast,  he  clutched  a  long  curved  knife  and 
waited  —  waited  —  for  the  critical  moment  when  my 
throat  should  be  at  his  mercy ! 

I  have  said  that  a  strange  coolness  had  come  to 
my  aid;  even  now  it  did  not  fail  me,  and  so  incal- 
culably rapid  are  the  workings  of  the  human  mind 
that  I  remember  complimenting  myself  upon  an 
achievement  which  Smith  himself  could  not  have  bet- 
tered, and  this  in  the  immeasurable  interval  which  in- 
tervened between  the  commencement  of  my  upward 
swing  and  my  arrival  on  a  level  with  the  window. 

I  threw  my  body  back  and  thrust  my  feet  forward. 
As  my  legs  went  through  the  opening,  an  acute  pain 
in  one  calf  told  me  that  I  was  not  to  escape  scathe- 
less from  the  night's  melee.  But  the  dacoit  went 


THE  CROSS  BAR  201 

rolling  over  in  the  darkness  of  the  room,  as  helpless 
in  face  of  that  ramrod  stroke  as  the  veriest  in- 
fant .  .  . 

Back  I  swept  upon  my  trapeze,  a  sight  to  have  in- 
duced any  passing  citizen  to  question  his  sanity. 
With  might  and  main  I  sought  to  check  the  swing  of 
the  pendulum,  for  if  I  should  come  within  reach  of 
the  window  behind  I  doubted  not  that  other  knives 
awaited  me.  It  was  no  difficult  feat,  and  I  succeeded 
in  checking  my  flight.  Swinging  there  above 
Museum  Street  I  could  even  appreciate,  so  lucid  was 
my  mind,  the  ludicrous  element  of  the  situation. 

I  dropped.  My  wounded  leg  almost  failed  me; 
and  greatly  shaken,  but  with  no  other  serious  dam- 
age, I  picked  myself  up  from  the  dust  of  the  road- 
way. It  was  a  mockery  of  Fate  that  the  problem 
which  Nayland  Smith  had  set  me  to  solve,  should 
have  been  solved  thus ;  for  I  could  not  doubt  that  by 
means  of  the  branch  of  a  tall  tree  or  some  other  suit- 
able object  situated  opposite  to  Smith's  house  in 
Rangoon,  Karamaneh  had  made  her  escape  as  to- 
night I  had  made  mine. 

Apart  from  the  acute  pain  in  my  calf  I  knew  that 
the  dacoit's  knife  had  bitten  deeply,  by  reason  of  the 
fact  that  a  warm  liquid  was  trickling  down  into  my 
boot.  Like  any  drunkard  I  stood  there  in  the  middle 
of  the  road  looking  up  at  the  vacant  window  where 
the  dacoit  had  been,  and  up  at  the  window  above  the 
shop  of  J.  Salaman  where  I  knew  Fu-Manchu  to  be. 
But  for  some  reason  the  latter  window  had  been 


202    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

closed  or  almost  closed,  and  as  I  stood  there  this 
reason  became  apparent  to  me. 

The  sound  of  running  footsteps  came  from  the 
direction  of  New  Oxford  Street.  I  turned  —  to  see 
two  policemen  bearing  down  upon  me ! 

This  was  a  time  for  quick  decisions  and  prompt 
action.  I  weighed  all  the  circumstances  in  the  bal- 
ance, and  made  the  last  vital  choice  of  the  night;  I 
turned  and  ran  toward  the  British  Museum  as  though 
the  worst  of  Fu-Manchu's  creatures,  and  not  my  al- 
lies the  police,  were  at  my  heels ! 

No  one  else  was  in  sight,  but,  as  I  whirled  into  the 
Square,  the  red  lamp  of  a  slowly  retreating  taxi  be- 
came visible  some  hundred  yards'1  to  the  left.  My 
leg  was  paining  me  greatly,  but  the  nature  of  the 
wound  did  not  interfere  with  my  progress;  therefore 
I  continued  my  headlong  career,  and  ere  the  police 
had  reached  the  end  of  Museum  Street  I  had  my 
hand  upon  the  door  handle  of  the  cab  —  for,  the 
Fates  being  persistently  kind  to  me,  the  vehicle  was 
for  hire. 

"  Dr.  Cleeve's,  Harley  Street!  "  I  shouted  at  the 
man.  "  Drive  like  hell !  It's  an  urgent  case." 

I  leaped  into  the  cab. 

Within  five  seconds  from  the  time  that  I  slammed 
the  door  and  dropped  back  panting  upon  the  cushions, 
we  were  speeding  westward  toward  the  house  of  the 
famous  pathologist,  thereby  throwing  the  police 
hopelessly  off  the  track. 

Faintly  to  my  ears  came  the  purr  of  a  police 


THE  CROSS  BAR  203 

whistle.  The  taxi-man  evidently  did  not  hear  the 
significant  sound.  Merciful  Providence  had  rung 
down  the  curtain ;  for  to-night  my  role  in  the  yellow 
drama  was  finished. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

CRAGMIRE  TOWER 

LESS  than  two  hours  later,  Inspector  Weymouth 
and  a  party  of  men  from  Scotland  Yard  raided 
the  house  in  Museum  Street.  They  found  the  stock 
of  J.  Salaman  practically  intact,  and,  in  the  strangely 
appointed  rooms  above,  every  evidence  of  a  hasty 
outgoing.  But  of  the  instruments,  drugs  and  other 
laboratory  paraphernalia  not  one  item  remained.  I 
would  gladly  have  given  my  income  for  a  year,  to 
have  gained  possession  of  the  books,  alone ;  for,  be- 
yond all  shadow  of  doubt,  I  knew  them  to  contain 
formulas  calculated  to  revolutionize  the  science  of 
medicine. 

Exhausted,  physically  and  mentally,  and  with  my 
mind  a  whispering-gallery  of  conjectures  (it  were 
needless  for  me  to  mention  whom  respecting)  I 
turned  in,  gratefully,  having  patched  up  the  slight 
wound  in  my  calf. 

I  seemed  scarcely  to  have  closed  my  eyes,  when 
Naylancl  Smith  was  shaking  me  into  wakefulness. 

"  You  are  probably  tired  out,"  he  said;  "  but  your 
crazy  expedition  of  last  night  entitles  you  to  no  sym- 
pathy. Read  this ;  there  is  a  train  in  an  hour.  We 
will  reserve  a  compartment  and  you  can  resume  your 
interrupted  slumbers  in  a  corner  seat." 

204 


CRAGMIRE  TOWER  205 

As  I  struggled  upright  in  bed,  rubbing  my  eyes 
sleepily,  Smith  handed  me  the  Daily  Telegraph, 
pointing  to  the  following  paragraph  upon  the  literary 
page: 

Messrs.  M announce  that  they  will  publish  shortly 

the  long  delayed  work  of  Kegan  Van  Roon,  the  celebrated 
American  traveler,  Orientalist  and  psychic  investigator,  deal- 
ing with  his  recent  inquiries  in  China.  It  will  be  remem- 
bered that  Mr.  Van  Roon  undertook  to  motor  from  Canton 
to  Siberia  last  winter,  but  met  with  unforeseen  difficulties  in 
the  province  of  Ho-Nan.  He  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  body 
of  fanatics  and  was  fortunate  to  escape  with  his  life.  His 
book  will  deal  in  particular  with  his  experiences  in  Ho-Nan, 
and  some  sensational  revelations  regarding  the  awakening  of 
that  most  mysterious  race,  the  Chinese,  are  promised.  For 
reasons  of  his  own  he  has  decided  to  remain  in  England  until 
the  completion  of  his  book  (which  will  be  published  simul- 
taneously in  New  York  and  London)  and  has  leased  Crag- 
mire  Tower,  Somersetshire,  in  which  romantic  and  historical 
residence  he  will  collate  his  notes  and  prepare  for  the  world 
a  work  ear-marked  as  a  classic  even  before  it  is  published. 

I  glanced  up  from  the  paper,  to  find  Smith's  eyes 
fixed  upon  me,  inquiringly. 

"  From  what  I  have  been  able  to  learn,"  he  said, 
evenly,  "  we  should  reach  Saul,  with  decent  luck, 
just  before  dusk." 

As  he  turned,  and  quitted  the  room  without  an- 
other word,  I  realized,  in  a  flash,  the  purport  of  our 
mission ;  I  understood  my  friend's  ominous  calm,  be- 
tokening suppressed  excitement. 

The  Fates  were  with  us  (or  so  it  seemed)  ;  and 


2o6    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

whereas  we  had  not  hoped  to  gain  Saul  before  sun- 
set, as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  autumn  afternoon  was 
in  its  most  glorious  phase  as  we  left  the  little  village 
with  its  oldtime  hostelry  behind  us  and  set  out  in  an 
easterly  direction,  with  the  Bristol  Channel  far  away 
on  our  left  and  a  gently  sloping  upland  on  our  right. 
The  crooked  high-street  practically  constituted  the 
entire  hamlet  of  Saul,  and  the  inn,  "  The  Wagon- 
ers," was  the  last  house  in  the  street.  Now,  as  we 
followed  the  ribbon  of  moor-path  to  the  top  of  the 
rise,  we  could  stand  and  look  back  upon  the  way  we 
had  come ;  and  although  we  had  covered  fully  a  mile 
of  ground,  it  was  possible  to  detect  the  sunlight 
gleaming  now  and  then  upon  the  gilt  lettering  of  the 
inn  sign  as  it  swayed  in  the  breeze.  The  day  had 
been  unpleasantly  warm,  but  was  relieved  by  this 
same  sea  breeze,  which,  although  but  slight,  had  in 
it  the  tang  of  the  broad  Atlantic.  Behind  us,  then, 
the  foot-path  sloped  down  to  Saul,  unpeopled  by  any 
living  thing;  east  and  northeast  swelled  the  monot- 
ony of  the  moor  right  out  to  the  hazy  distance 
where  the  sky  began  and  the  sea  remotely  lay  hidden; 
west  fell  the  gentle  gradient  from  the  top  of  the  slope 
which  we  had  mounted,  and  here,  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach,  the  country  had  an  appearance  sugges- 
tive of  a  huge  and  dried-up  lake.  This  idea  was 
borne  out  by  an  odd  blotchiness,  for  sometimes  there 
would  be  half  a  mile  or  more  of  seeming  moorland, 
then  a  sharply  defined  change  (or  it  seemed  sharply 
defined  from  that  bird's-eye  point  of  view).  A 


CRAGMIRE  TOWER  207 

vivid  greenness  marked  these  changes,  which  merged 
into  a  dun-colored  smudge  and  again  into  the  bril- 
liant green;  then  the  moor  would  begin  once  more. 

"  That  will  be  the  Tor  of  Glastonbury,  I  suppose," 
said  Smith,  suddenly  peering  through  his  field-glasses 
in  an  easterly  direction;  "  and  yonder,  unless  I  am 
greatly  mistaken,  is  Cragmire  Tower." 

Shading  my  eyes  with  my  hand,  I  also  looked 
ahead,  and  saw  the  place  for  which  we  were  bound; 
one  of  those  round  towers,  more  common  in  Ireland, 
which  some  authorities  have  declared  to  be  of 
Phoenician  origin.  Ramshackle  buildings  clustered 
untidily  about  its  base,  and  to  it  a  sort  of  tongue  of 
that  oddly  venomous  green  which  patched  the  low- 
lands, shot  out  and  seemed  almost  to  reach  the  tower- 
base.  The  land  for  miles  around  was  as  flat  as  the 
palm  of  my  hand,  saving  certain  hummocks,  lesser 
tors,  and  irregular  piles  of  boulders  which  dotted  its 
expanse.  Hills  and  uplands  there  were  in  the  hazy 
distance,  forming  a  sort  of  mighty  inland  bay  which 
I  doubted  not  in  some  past  age  had  been  covered  by 
the  sea.  Even  in  the  brilliant  sunlight  the  place  had 
something  of  a  mournful  aspect,  looking  like  a  great 
dried-up  pool  into  which  the  children  of  giants  had 
carelessly  cast  stones. 

We  met  no  living  soul  upon  the  moor.  With 
Cragmire  Tower  but  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  Smith 
paused  again,  and  raising  his  powerful  glasses  swept 
the  visible  landscape. 

"  Not  a  sign.  Petrie,"  he  said,  softly;  "  yet  .  .  ." 


208     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

Dropping  the  glasses  back  into  their  case,  my  com- 
panion began  to  tug  at  his  left  ear. 

"Have  we  been  over-confident?"  he  said,  nar- 
rowing his  eyes  in  speculative  fashion.  "  No  less 
than  three  times  I  have  had  the  idea  that  something, 
or  some  one,  has  just  dropped  out  of  sight,  behind 
me,  as  I  focused  .  .  ." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Smith?  " 

"  Are  we  " —  he  glanced  about  him  as  though  the 
vastness  were  peopled  with  listening  Chinamen — 
"followed?" 

Silently  we  looked  into  one  another's  eyes,  each 
seeking  for  the  dread  which  neither  had  named. 
Then: 

"  Come  on,  Petrie !  "  said  Smith,  grasping  my 
arm ;  and  at  quick  march  we  were  off  again. 

Cragmire  Tower  stood  upon  a  very  slight  emi- 
nence, and  what  had  looked  like  a  green  tongue,  from 
the  moorland  slopes  above,  was  in  fact  a  creek, 
flanked  by  lush  land,  which  here  found  its  way  to  the 
sea.  The  house  which  we  were  come  to  visit  con- 
sisted in  a  low,  two-story  building,  joining  the  an- 
cient tower  on  the  east  with  two  smaller  outbuildings. 
There  was  a  miniature  kitchen-garden,  and  a  few 
stunted  fruit  trees  in  the  northwest  corner;  the  whole 
being  surrounded  by  a  gray  stone  wall. 

The  shadow  of  the  tower  fell  sharply  across  the 
path,  which  ran  up  almost  alongside  of  it.  We  were 
both  extremely  warm  by  reason  of  our  long  and 
rapid  walk  on  that  hot  day,  and  this  shade  should 


CRAGMIRE  TOWER  209 

have  been  grateful  to  us.  In  short,  I  find  it  difficult 
to  account  for  the  unwelcome  chill  which  I  experi- 
enced at  the  moment  that  I  found  myself  at  the  foot 
of  the  time-worn  monument.  I  know  that  we  both 
pulled  up  sharply  and  looked  at  one  another  as 
though  acted  upon  by  some  mutual  disturbance. 

But  not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness  save  a  remote 
murmuring,  until  a  solitary  sea  gull  rose  in  the  air 
and  circled  directly  over  the  tower,  uttering  its 
mournful  and  unmusical  cry.  Automatically  to  my 
mind  sprang  the  lines  of  the  poem : 

Far  from  all  brother-men,  in  the  weird  of  the  fen, 
With  God's  creatures  I  bide,  'mid  the  birds  that  I  ken; 
Where  the  winds  ever  dree,  where  the  hymn  of  the  sea 
Brings  a  message  of  peace  from  the  ocean  to  me. 

Not  a  soul  was  visible  about  the  premises;  there 
was  no  sound  of  human  activity  and  no  dog  barked. 
Nayland  Smith  drew  a  long  breath,  glanced  back 
along  the  way  we  had  come,  then  went  on,  following 
the  wall,  I  beside  him,  until  we  came  to  the  gate.  It 
was  unfastened,  and  we  walked  up  the  stone  path 
through  a  wilderness  of  weeds.  Four  windows  of 
the  house  were  visible,  two  on  the  ground  floor  and 
two  above.  Those  on  the  ground  floor  were  heavily 
boarded  up,  those  above,  though  glazed,  boasted 
neither  blinds  nor  curtains.  Cragmire  Tower 
showed  not  the  slightest  evidence  of  tenancy. 

We  mounted  three  steps  and  stood  before  a  tre- 
mendously massive  oaken  door.  An  iron  bell-pull, 


210    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

ancient  and  rusty,  hung  on  the  right  of  the  door,  and 
Smith,  giving  me  an  odd  glance,  seized  the  ring  and 
tugged  it. 

From  somewhere  within  the  building  answered  a 
mournful  clangor,  a  cracked  and  toneless  jangle, 
which,  seeming  to  echo  through  empty  apartments, 
sought  and  found  an  exit  apparently  by  way  of  one 
of  the  openings  in  the  round  tower;  for  it  was  from 
above  our  heads  that  the  noise  came  to  us. 

It  died  away,  that  eerie  ringing  —  that  clanging 
so  dismal  that  it  could  chill  my  heart  even  then  with 
the  bright  sunlight  streaming  down  out  of  the  blue; 
it  awoke  no  other  response  than  the  mournful  cry  of 
the  sea  gull  circling  over  our  heads.  Silence  fell. 
We  looked  at  one  another,  and  we  were  both  about 
to  express  a  mutual  doubt,  when,  unheralded  by  any 
unfastening  of  bolts  or  bars,  the  oaken  door  was 
opened,  and  a  huge  mulatto,  dressed  in  white,  stood 
there  regarding  us. 

I  started  nervously,  for  the  apparition  was  so  un- 
expected, but  Nayland  Smith,  without  evidence  of 
surprise,  thrust  a  card  into  the  man's  hand. 

"  Take  my  card  to  Mr.  Van  Roon,  and  say  that  I 
wish  to  see  him  on  important  business,"  he  directed, 
authoritatively. 

The  mulatto  bowed  and  retired.  His  white  fig- 
ure seemed  to  be  swallowed  up  by  the  darkness 
within,  for  beyond  the  patch  of  uncarpeted  floor  re- 
vealed by  the  peeping  sunlight,  was  a  barn-like  place 
of  densest  shadow.  I  was  about  to  speak,  but  Smith 


CRAGMIRE  TOWER  211 

laid  his  hand  upon  my  arm  warningly,  as,  out  from 
the  shadows  the  mulatto  returned.  He  stood  on  the 
right  of  the  door  and  bowed  again. 

"  Be  pleased  to  enter,"  he  said,  in  his  harsh,  negro 
voice.  "  Mr.  Van  Roon  will  see  you." 

The  gladness  of  the  sun  could  no  longer  stir  me; 
a  chill  and  sense  of  foreboding  bore  me  company,  as 
beside  Nayland  Smith  I  entered  Cragmire  Tower. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
THE  MULATTO 

THE  room  in  which  Van  Roon  received  us  was 
roughly  of  the  shape  of  an  old-fashioned  key- 
hole; one  end  of  it  occupied  the  base  of  the  tower, 
upon  which  the  remainder  had  evidently  been  built. 
In  many  respects  it  was  a  singular  room,  but  the 
feature  which  caused  me  the  greatest  amazement 
was  this :  —  it  had  no  windows ! 

In  the  deep  alcove  formed  by  the  tower  sat  Van 
Roon  at  a  littered  table,  upon  which  stood  an  oil 
reading-lamp,  green  shaded,  of  the  "  Victoria  "  pat- 
tern, to  furnish  the  entire  illumination  of  the  apart- 
ment. That  bookshelves  lined  the  rectangular  por- 
tion of  this  strange  study  I  divined,  although  that  end 
of  the  place  was  dark  as  a  catacomb.  The  walls 
were  wood-paneled,  and  the  ceiling  was  oaken 
beamed.  A  small  bookshelf  and  tumble-down 
cabinet  stood  upon  either  side  of  the  table,  and  the 
celebrated  American  author  and  traveler  lay  propped 
up  in  a  long  split-cane  chair.  He  wore  smoked 
glasses,  and  had  a  clean-shaven,  olive  face,  with  a 
profusion  of  jet  black  hair.  He  was  garbed  in  a 
dirty  red  dressing-gown,  and  a  perfect  fog  of  cigar 
smoke  hung  in  the  room.  He  did  not  rise  to  greet 

212 


THE  MULATTO  213 

us,  but  merely  extended  his  right  hand,  between  two 
fingers  whereof  he  held  Smith's  card. 

'*  You  will  excuse  the  seeming  discourtesy  of  an 
invalid,  gentlemen?"  he  said;  "but  I  am  suffering 
from  undue  temerity  in  the  interior  of  China !  " 

He  waved  his  hand  vaguely,  and  I  saw  that  two 
rough  deal  chairs  stood  near  the  table.  Smith  and 
I  seated  ourselves,  and  my  friend,  leaning  his  elbow 
upon  the  table,  looked  fixedly  at  the  face  of  the  man 
whom  we  had  come  from  London  to  visit.  Al- 
though comparatively  unfamiliar  to  the  British  pub- 
lic, the  name  of  Van  Roon  was  well-known  in  Ameri- 
can literary  circles;  for  he  enjoyed  in  the  United 
States  a  reputation  somewhat  similar  to  that  which 
had  rendered  the  name  of  our  mutual  friend,  Sir 
Lionel  Barton,  a  household  word  in  England.  It 
was  Van  Roon  who,  following  in  the  footsteps  of 
Madame  Blavatsky,  had  sought  out  the  haunts  of 
the  fabled  mahatmas  in  the  Himalayas,  and  Van 
Roon  who  had  essayed  to  explore  the  fever  swamps 
of  Yucatan  in  quest  of  the  secret  of  lost  Atlantis; 
lastly,  it  was  Van  Roon,  who,  with  an  overland  car 
specially  built  for  him  by  a  celebrated  American 
firm,  had  undertaken  the  journey  across  China. 

I  studied  the  olive  face  with  curiosity.  Its  natural 
impassivity  was  so  greatly  increased  by  the  presence 
of  the  colored  spectacles  that  my  study  was  as  profit- 
less as  if  I  had  scrutinized  the  face  of  a  carven 
Buddha.  The  mulatto  had  withdrawn,  and  in  an 
atmosphere  of  gloom  and  tobacco  smoke,  Smith  and 


2i4    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

I  sat  staring,  perhaps  rather  rudely,  at  the  object  of 
our  visit  to  the  West  Country. 

"  Mr.  Van  Roon,"  began  my  friend  abruptly, 
"  you  will  no  doubt  have  seen  this  paragraph.  It 
appeared  in  this  morning's  Daily  Telegraph." 

He  stood  up,  and  taking  out  the  cutting  from  his 
notebook,  placed  it  on  the  table. 

"  I  have  seen  this  —  yes,"  said  Van  Roon,  re- 
vealing a  row  of  even,  white  teeth  in  a  rapid  smile. 
"  Is  it  to  this  paragraph  that  I  owe  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you  here?  " 

"  The  paragraph  appeared  in  this  morning's  is- 
sue," replied  Smith.  "  An  hour  from  the  time  of 
seeing  it,  my  friend,  Dr.  Petrie,  and  I  were  entrained 
for  Bridgewater." 

'  Your  visit  delights  me,  gentlemen,  and  I  should 
be  ungrateful  to  question  its  cause;  but  frankly  I  am 
at  a  loss  to  understand  why  you  should  have  honored 
me  thus.  I  am  a  poor  host,  God  knows;  for  what 
with  my  tortured  limb,  a  legacy  from  the  Chinese 
devils  whose  secrets  I  surprised,  and  my  semi-blind- 
ness, due  to  the  same  cause,  I  am  but  sorry  com- 
pany." 

Nayland  Smith  held  up  his  right  hand  deprecat- 
ingly.  Van  Roon  tendered  a  box  of  cigars  and 
clapped  his  hands,  whereupon  the  mulatto  entered. 

"  I  see  that  you  have  a  story  to  tell  me,  Mr. 
Smith,"  he  said;  "therefore  I  suggest  whisky-and- 
soda  —  or  you  might  prefer  tea,  as  it  is  nearly  tea 
time?" 


THE  MULATTO  215 

Smith  and  I  chose  the  former  refreshment,  and  the 
soft-footed  half-breed  having  departed  upon  his 
errand,  my  companion,  leaning  forward  earnestly 
across  the  littered  table,  outlined  for  Van  Roon  the 
story  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  the  great  and  malign  being 
whose  mission  in  England  at  that  moment  was  none 
other  than  the  stoppage  of  just  such  information  as 
our  host  was  preparing  to  give  to  the  world. 

"  There  is  a  giant  conspiracy,  Mr.  Van  Roon," 
he  said,  "  which  had  its  birth  in  this  very  province 
of  Ho-Nan,  from  which  you  were  so  fortunate  to 
escape  alive;  whatever  its  scope  or  limitations,  a 
great  secret  society  is  established  among  the  yellow 
races.  It  means  that  China,  which  has  slumbered 
for  so  many  generations,  now  stirs  in  that  age-long 
sleep.  I  need  not  tell  you  how  much  more  it  means, 
this  seething  in  the  pot  .  .  ." 

"  In  a  word,"  interrupted  Van  Roon,  pushing 
Smith's  glass  across  the  table,  "  you  would  say? — " 

"  That  your  life  is  not  worth  that !  "  replied  Smith, 
snapping  his  fingers  before  the  other's  face. 

A  very  impressive  silence  fell.  I  watched  Van 
Roon  curiously  as  he  sat  propped  up  among  his 
cushions,  his  smooth  face  ghastly  in  the  green  light 
from  the  lamp-shade.  He  held  the  stump  of  a  cigar 
between  his  teeth,  but,  apparently  unnoticed  by  him, 
it  had  long  since  gone  out.  Smith,  out  of  the  shad- 
ows, was  watching  him,  too.  Then: 

"  Your  information  is  very  disturbing,"  said  the 
American.  "  I  am  the  more  disposed  to  credit  your 


216    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

statement  because  I  am  all  too  painfully  aware  of  the 
existence  of  such  a  group  as  you  mention,  in  China, 
but  that  they  had  an  agent  here  in  England  is  some- 
thing I  had  never  conjectured.  In  seeking  out  this 
solitary  residence  I  have  unwittingly  done  much  to 
assist  their  designs  .  .  .  But  —  my  dear  Mr.  Smith, 
I  am  very  remiss!  Of  course  you  will  remain  to- 
night, and  I  trust  for  some  days  to  come?  " 

Smith  glanced  rapidly  across  at  me,  then  turned 
again  to  our  host. 

"  It  seems  like  forcing  our  company  upon  you," 
he  said,  "  but  in  your  own  interests  I  think  it  will  be 
best  to  do  as  you  are  good  enough  to  suggest.  I 
hope  and  believe  that  our  arrival  here  has  not  been 
noticed  by  the  enemy;  therefore  it  will  be  well  if  we 
remain  concealed  as  much  as  possible  for  the  pres- 
ent, until  we  have  settled  upon  some  plan." 

"  Hagar  shall  go  to  the  station  for  your  baggage," 
said  the  American  rapidly,  and  clapped  his  hands,  his 
usual  signal  to  the  mulatto. 

Whilst  the  latter  was  receiving  his  orders  I  no- 
ticed Nayland  Smith  watching  him  closely;  and  when 
he  had  departed: 

"  How  long  has  that  man  been  in  your  service?  " 
snapped  my  friend. 

Van  Roon  peered  blindly  through  his  smoked 
glasses. 

"  For  some  years,"  he  replied;  "  he  was  with  me 
in  India  —  and  in  China." 

"  Where  did  you  engage  him?  " 


THE  MULATTO  217 

"  Actually,  in  St.  Kitts." 

"  H'm,"  muttered  Smith,  and  automatically  he 
took  out  and  began  to  fill  his  pipe. 

"  I  can  offer  you  no  company  but  my  own,  gentle- 
men," continued  Van  Roon,  "  but  unless  it  inter- 
feres with  your  plans,  you  may  find  the  surrounding 
district  of  interest  and  worthy  of  inspection,  between 
now  and  dinner  time.  By  the  way,  I  think  I  can 
promise  you  quite  a  satisfactory  meal,  for  Hagar  is 
a  model  chef." 

"  A  walk  would  be  enjoyable,"  said  Smith,  "  but 
dangerous." 

"  Ah !  perhaps  you  are  right.  Evidently  you  ap- 
prehend some  attempt  upon  me?  " 

"At  any  moment!  " 

"  To  one  in  my  crippled  condition,  an  alarming 
outlook!  However,  I  place  myself  unreservedly  in 
your  hands.  But  really,  you  must  not  leave  this  in- 
teresting district  before  you  have  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  some  of  its  historical  spots.  To  me,  steeped 
as  I  am  in  what  I  may  term  the  lore  of  the  odd,  it  is 
a  veritable  wonderland,  almost  as  interesting,  in  its 
way,  as  the  caves  and  jungles  of  Hindustan  depicted 
by  Madame  Blavatsky." 

His  high-pitched  voice,  with  a  certain  labored  in- 
tonation, not  quite  so  characteristically  American  as 
was  his  accent,  rose  even  higher;  he  spoke  with  the 
fire  of  the  enthusiast. 

'  When  I  learned  that  Cragmire  Tower  was 
vacant,"  he  continued,  "  I  leaped  at  the  chance  (ex- 


2i 8     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

cuse  the  metaphor,  from  a  lame  man!).  This  is  a 
ghost  hunter's  paradise.  The  tower  itself  is  of  un- 
known origin,  though  probably  Phoenician,  and  the 
house  traditionally  sheltered  Dr.  Macleod,  the  nec- 
romancer, after  his  flight  from  the  persecution 
of  James  of  Scotland.  Then,  to  add  to  its  interest, 
it  borders  on  Sedgemoor,  the  scene  of  the  bloody 
battle  during  the  Monmouth  rising,  whereat  a  thou- 
sand were  slain  on  the  field.  It  is  a  local  legend  that 
the  unhappy  Duke  and  his  staff  may  be  seen,  on 
stormy  nights,  crossing  the  path  which  skirts  the  mire, 
after  which  this  building  is  named,  with  flaming 
torches  held  aloft." 

"Merely  marsh-lights,  I  take  it?"  interjected 
Smith,  gripping  his  pipe  hard  between  his  teeth. 

4  Your  practical  mind  naturally  seeks  a  practical 
explanation,"  smiled  Van  Roon,  "  but  I  myself  have 
other  theories.  Then  in  addition  to  the  charms  of 
Sedgemoor  —  haunted  Sedgemoor  —  on  a  fine  day 
it  is  quite  possible  to  see  the  ruins  of  Glastonbury 
Abbey  from  here;  and  Glastonbury  Abbey,  as  you 
may  know,  is  closely  bound  up  with  the  history  of 
alchemy.  It  was  in  the  ruins  of  Glastonbury  Abbey 
that  the  adept  Kelly,  companion  of  Dr.  Dee,  dis- 
covered, in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  the  famous  caskets 
of  St.  Dunstan,  containing  the  two  tinctures  .  .  ." 

So  he  ran  on,  enumerating  the  odd  charms  of  his 
residence,  charms  which  for  my  part  I  did  not  find 
appealing.  Finally: 

"  We  cannot  presume   further  upon  your  kind- 


THE  MULATTO  219 

ness,"  said  Nayland  Smith,  standing  up.  "  No  doubt 
we  can  amuse  ourselves  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
house  until  the  return  of  your  servant." 

"  Look  upon  Cragmire  Tower  as  your  own,  gen- 
tlemen!" cried  Van  Roon.  "Most  of  the  rooms 
are  unfurnished,  and  the  garden  is  a  wilderness,  but 
the  structure  of  the  brickwork  in  the  tower  may  in- 
terest you  archaeologically,  and  the  view  across  the 
moor  is  at  least  as  fine  as  any  in  the  neighborhood." 

So,  with  his  brilliant  smile  and  a  gesture  of  one 
thin  yellow  hand,  the  crippled  traveler  made  us  free 
of  his  odd  dwelling.  As  I  passed  out  from  the 
room  close  at  Smith's  heels,  I  glanced  back,  I  cannot 
say  why.  Van  Roon  already  was  bending  over  his 
papers,  in  his  green  shadowed  sanctuary,  and  the 
light  shining  down  upon  his  smoked  glasses  created 
the  odd  illusion  that  he  was  looking  over  the  tops  of 
the  lenses  and  not  down  at  the  table  as  his  attitude 
suggested.  However,  it  was  probably  ascribable  to 
the  weird  chiaroscuro  of  the  scene,  although  it  gave 
the  seated  figure  an  oddly  malignant  appearance,  and 
I  passed  out  through  the  utter  darkness  of  the  outer 
room  to  the  front  door.  Smith  opening  it,  I  was 
conscious  of  surprise  to  find  dusk  come  —  to  meet 
darkness  where  I  had  looked  for  sunlight. 

The  silver  wisps  which  had  raced  along  the  hori- 
zon, as  we  came  to  Cragmire  Tower,  had  been  har- 
bingers of  other  and  heavier  banks.  A  stormy  sun- 
set smeared  crimson  streaks  across  the  skyline,  where 
a  great  range  of  clouds,  like  the  oily  smoke  of  a  city 


220    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

burning,  was  banked,  mountain  topping  mountain, 
and  lighted  from  below  by  this  angry  red.  As  we 
came  down  the  steps  and  out  by  the  gate,  I  turned 
and  looked  across  the  moor  behind  us.  A  sort  of 
reflection  from  this  distant  blaze  encrimsoned  the 
whole  landscape.  The  inland  bay  glowed  sullenly, 
as  if  internal  fires  and  not  reflected  light  were  at 
work;  a  scene  both  wild  and  majestic. 

Nayland  Smith  was  staring  up  at  the  cone-like  top 
of  the  ancient  tower  in  a  curious,  speculative  fashion. 
Under  the  influence  of  our  host's  conversation  I  had 
forgotten  the  reasonless  dread  which  had  touched  me 
at  the  moment  of  our  arrival,  but  now,  with  the  red 
light  blazing  over  Sedgemoor,  as  if  in  memory  of 
the  blood  which  had  been  shed  there,  and  with  the 
tower  of  unknown  origin  looming  above  me,  I  be- 
came very  uncomfortable  again,  nor  did  I  envy  Van 
Roon  his  eerie  residence.  The  proximity  of  a  tower 
of  any  kind,  at  night,  makes  in  some  inexplicable  way 
for  awe,  and  to-night  there  were  other  agents,  too. 

"What's  that?"  snapped  Smith  suddenly,  grasp- 
ing my  arm. 

He  was  peering  southward,  toward  the  distant 
hamlet,  and,  starting  violently  at  his  words  and  the 
sudden  grasp  of  his  hand,  I,  too,  stared  in  that 
direction. 

"  We  were  followed,  Petrie,"  he  almost  whis- 
pered. "  I  never  got  a  sight  of  our  follower,  but 
I'll  swear  we  were  followed.  Look!  there's  some- 
thing moving  over  yonder !  " 


THE  MULATTO  221 

Together  we  stood  staring  into  the  dusk;  then 
Smith  burst  abruptly  into  one  of  his  rare  laughs,  and 
clapped  me  upon  the  shoulder. 

"  It's  Hagar,  the  mulatto !  "  he  cried  — "  and  our 
grips.  That  extraordinary  American  with  his  tales 
of  witch-lights  and  haunted  abbeys  has  been  playing 
the  devil  with  our  nerves." 

Together  we  waited  by  the  gate  until  the  half- 
caste  appeared  on  the  bend  of  the  path  with  a  grip 
in  either  hand.  He  was  a  great,  muscular  fellow 
with  a  stoic  face,  and,  for  the  purpose  of  visiting 
Saul,  presumably,  he  had  doffed  his  white  rai- 
ment and  now  wore  a  sort  of  livery,  with  a  peaked 
cap. 

Smith  watched  him  enter  the  house.     Then: 

"  I  wonder  where  Van  Roon  obtains  his  provi- 
sions and  so  forth,"  he  muttered.  "  It's  odd  they 
knew  nothing  about  the  new  tenant  of  Cragmire 
Tower  at '  The  Wagoners.' ' 

There  came  a  sort  of  sudden  expectancy  into  his 
manner  for  which  I  found  myself  at  a  loss  to  account. 
He  turned  his  gaze  inland  and  stood  there  tugging  at 
his  left  ear  and  clicking  his  teeth  together.  He 
stared  at  me,  and  his  eyes  looked  very  bright  in 
the  dusk,  for  a.  sort  of  red  glow  from  the  sunset 
touched  them;  but  he  spoke  no  word,  merely  taking 
my  arm  and  leading  me  off  on  a  rambling  walk 
around  and  about  the  house.  Neither  of  us  spoke  a 
word  until  we  stood  at  the  gate  of  Cragmire  Tower 
again;  then: 


222     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  I'll  swear,  now,  that  we  were  followed  here  to- 
day! "  muttered  Smith. 

The  lofty  place  immediately  within  the  doorway 
proved,  in  the  light  of  a  lamp  now  fixed  in  an  iron 
bracket,  to  be  a  square  entrance  hall  meagerly  fur- 
nished. The  closed  study  door  faced  the  entrance, 
and  on  the  left  of  it  ascended  an  open  staircase  up 
which  the  mulatto  led  the  way.  We  found  our- 
selves on  the  floor  above,  in  a  corridor  traversing  the 
house  from  back  to  front.  An  apartment  on  the 
immediate  left  was  indicated  by  the  mulatto  as  that 
allotted  to  Smith.  It  was  a  room  of  fair  size,  fur- 
nished quite  simply  but  boasting  a  wardrobe  cup- 
board, and  Smith's  grip  stood  beside  the  white 
enameled  bed.  I  glanced  around,  and  then  prepared 
to  follow  the  man,  who  had  awaited  me  in  the  door- 
way. 

He  still  wore  his  dark  livery,  and  as  I  followed  the 
lithe,  broad-shouldered  figure  along  the  corridor,  I 
found  myself  considering  critically  his  breadth  of 
shoulder  and  the  extraordinary  thickness  of  his  neck. 

I  have  repeatedly  spoken  of  a  sort  of  foreboding, 
an  elusive  stirring  in  the  depths  of  my  being  of 
which  I  became  conscious  at  certain  times  in  my 
dealings  with  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  and  his  murderous 
servants.  This  sensation,  or  something  akin  to  it, 
claimed  me  now,  unaccountably,  as  I  stood  looking 
into  the  neat  bedroom,  on  the  same  side  of  the  cor- 
ridor but  at  the  extreme  end,  wherein  I  was  to  sleep. 
A  voiceless  warning  urged  me  to  return;  a  kind  of 


THE  MULATTO  223 

childish  panic  came  fluttering  about  my  heart,  a  dread 
of  entering  the  room,  of  allowing  the  mulatto  to 
come  behind  me. 

Doubtless  this  was  no  more  than  a  sub-conscious 
product  of  my  observations  respecting  his  abnormal 
breadth  of  shoulder.  But  whatever  the  origin  of 
the  impulse,  I  found  myself  unable  to  disobey  it. 
Therefore,  I  merely  nodded,  turned  on  my  heel  and 
went  back  to  Smith's  room. 

I  closed  the  door,  then  turned  to  face  Smith,  who 
stood  regarding  me. 

"  Smith,"  I  said,  "  that  man  sends  cold  water  trick- 
ling down  my  spine !  " 

Still  regarding  me  fixedly,  my  friend  nodded  his 
head. 

"  You  are  curiously  sensitive  to  this  sort  of  thing," 
he  replied  slowly;  "  I  have  noticed  it  before  as  a 
useful  capacity.  I  don't  like  the  look  of  the  man 
myself.  The  fact  that  he  has  been  in  Van  Roon's 
employ  for  some  years  goes  for  nothing.  We  are 
neither  of  us  likely  to  forget  Kwee,  the  Chinese  serv- 
ant of  Sir  Lionel  Barton,  and  it  is  quite  possible  that 
Fu-Manchu  has  corrupted  this  man  as  he  corrupted 
the  other.  It  is  quite  possible  .  .  ." 

His  voice  trailed  off  into  silence,  and  he  stood  look- 
ing across  the  room  with  unseeing  eyes,  meditating 
deeply.  It  was  quite  dark  now  outside,  as  I  could 
see  through  the  uncurtained  window,  which  opened 
upon  the  dreary  expanse  stretching  out  to  haunted 
Sedgemoor.  Two  candles  were  burning  upon  the 


224    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

dressing  table ;  they  were  but  recently  lighted,  and  so 
intense  was  the  stillness  that  I  could  distinctly  hear 
the  spluttering  of  one  of  the  wicks,  which  was  damp. 
Without  giving  the  slightest  warning  of  his  intention, 
Smith  suddenly  made  two  strides  forward,  stretched 
out  his  long  arms,  and  snuffed  the  pair  of  candles  in 
a  twinkling. 

The  room  became  plunged  in  impenetrable  dark- 
ness. 

"  Not  a  word,  Petrie !  "  whispered  my  companion. 

I  moved  cautiously  to  join  him,  but  as  I  did  so, 
perceived  that  he  was  moving  too.  Vaguely,  against 
the  window  I  perceived  him  silhouetted.  He  was 
looking  out  across  the  moor,  and: 

"  See!  see!  "  he  hissed. 

With  my  heart  thumping  furiously  in  my  breast,  I 
bent  over  him;  and  for  the  second  time  since  our  com- 
ing to  Cragmire  Tower,  my  thoughts  flew  to  "  The 
Fenman." 

There  are  shades  in  the  fen ;  ghosts  of  women  and  men 
Who  have  sinned  and  have  died,  but  are  living  again. 
O'er  the  waters  they  tread,  with  their  lanterns  of  dread, 
And  they  peer  in  the  pools  —  in  the  pools  of  the  dead  .  .  . 

A  light  was  dancing  out  upon  the  moor,  a  witch- 
light  that  came  and  went  unaccountably,  up  and  down, 
in  and  out,  now  clearly  visible,  now  masked  in  the 
darkness ! 

"  Lock  the  door!  "  snapped  my  companion — "  if 
there's  a  key." 


THE  MULATTO  225 

I  crept  across  the  room  and  fumbled  for  a  mo- 
ment; then: 

"  There  is  no  key,"  I  reported. 

"  Then  wedge  the  chair  under  the  knob  and  let  no 
one  enter  until  I  return !  "  he  said,  amazingly. 

With  that  he  opened  the  window  to  its  fullest  ex- 
tent, threw  his  leg  over  the  sill,  and  went  creeping 
along  a  wide  concrete  ledge,  in  which  ran  a  leaded 
gutter,  in  the  direction  of  the  tower  on  the  right ! 

Not  pausing  to  follow  his  instructions  respecting 
the  chair,  I  craned  out  of  the  window,  watching  his 
progress,  and  wondering  with  what  sudden  madness 
he  was  bitten.  Indeed,  I  could  not  credit  my  senses, 
could  not  believe  that  I  heard  and  saw  aright.  Yet 
there  out  in  the  darkness  on  the  moor  moved  the  will- 
o'-the-wisp,  and  ten  yards  along  the  gutter  crept  my 
friend,  like  a  great  gaunt  cat.  Unknown  to  me  he 
must  have  prospected  the  route  by  daylight,  for  now 
I  saw  his  design.  The  ledge  terminated  only  where 
it  met  the  ancient  wall  of  the  tower,  and  it  was  pos- 
sible for  an  agile  climber  to  step  from  it  to  the  edge 
of  the  unglazed  window  some  four  feet  below,  and 
to  scramble  from  that  point  to  the  stone  fence  and 
thence  on  to  the  path  by  which  we  had  come  from 
Saul. 

This  difficult  operation  Nayland  Smith  successfully 
performed,  and,  to  my  unbounded  amazement,  went 
racing  into  the  darkness  toward  the  dancing  light, 
headlong,  like  a  madman!  The  night  swallowed 
him  up,  and  between  my  wonder  and  my  fear  my 


226    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

hands  trembled  so  violently  that  I  could  scarce  sup- 
port myself  where  I  rested,  with  my  full  weight  upon 
the  sill. 

I  seemed  now  to  be  moving  through  the  fevered 
phases  of  a  nightmare.  Around  and  below  me  Crag- 
mire  Tower  was  profoundly  silent,  but  a  faint  odor 
of  cookery  was  now  perceptible.  Outside,  from  the 
night,  came  a  faint  whispering  as  of  the  distant  sea, 
but  no  moon  and  no  stars  relieved  the  impenetrable 
blackness.  Only  out  over  the  moor  the  mysterious 
light  still  danced  and  moved. 

One  —  two  —  three  —  four  —  five  minutes  passed. 
The  night  vanished  and  did  not  appear  again.  Five 
more  age-long  minutes  elapsed  in  absolute  silence, 
whilst  I  peered  into  the  darkness  of  the  night  and 
listened,  every  nerve  in  my  body  tense,  for  the  return 
of  Nayland  Smith.  Yet  two  more  minutes,  which 
embraced  an  agony  of  suspense,  passed  in  the  same 
fashion;  then  a  shadowy  form  grew,  phantomesque, 
out  of  the  gloom;  a  moment  more,  and  I  distinctly 
heard  the  heavy  breathing  of  a  man  nearly  spent, 
and  saw  my  friend  scrambling  up  toward  the  black 
embrasure  in  the  tower.  His  voice  came  huskily, 
pantingly : 

"  Creep  along  and  lend  me  a  hand,  Petrie !  I  am 
nearly  winded." 

I  crept  through  the  window,  steadied  my  quivering 
nerves  by  an  effort  of  the  will,  and  reached  the  end 
of  the  ledge  in  time  to  take  Smith's  extended  hand 
and  to  draw  him  up  beside  me  against  the  wall  of  the 


THE  MULATTO  227 

tower.  He  was  shaking  with  his  exertions,  and  must 
have  fallen,  I  think,  without  my  assistance.  Inside 
the  room  again: 

"  Quick!  light  the  candles!  "  he  breathed  hoarsely. 
"  Did  any  one  come?  " 

"  No  one  —  nothing." 

Having  expended  several  matches  in  vain,  for  my 
fingers  twitched  nervously,  I  ultimately  succeeded  in 
relighting  the  candles. 

"  Get  along  to  your  room !  "  directed  Smith. 
"  Your  apprehensions  are  unfounded  at  the  moment, 
but  you  may  as  well  leave  both  doors  wide  open !  " 

I  looked  into  his  face  —  it  was  very  drawn  and 
grim,  and  his  brow  was  wet  with  perspiration,  but 
his  eyes  had  the  fighting  glint,  and  I  knew  that  we 
were  upon  the  eve  of  strange  happenings. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
A  CRY  ON  THE  MOOR 

OF  the  events  intervening  between  this  moment 
and  that  when  death  called  to  us  out  of  the 
night,  I  have  the  haziest  recollections.  An  excel- 
lent dinner  was  served  in  the  bleak  and  gloomy  din- 
ing-room by  the  mulatto,  and  the  crippled  author 
was  carried  to  the  head  of  the  table  by  this  same 
Herculean  attendant,  as  lightly  as  though  he  had  but 
the  weight  of  a  child. 

Van  Roon  talked  continuously,  revealing  a  deep 
knowledge  of  all  sorts  of  obscure  matters;  and  in 
the  brief  intervals,  Nayland  Smith  talked  also,  with 
almost  feverish  rapidity.  Plans  for  the  future  were 
discussed.  I  can  recall  no  one  of  them. 

I  could  not  stifle  my  queer  sentiments  in  regard  to 
the  mulatto,  and  every  time  I  found  him  behind  my 
chair  I  was  hard  put  to  it  to  repress  a  shudder.  In 
this  fashion  the  strange  evening  passed;  and  to  the 
accompaniment  of  distant,  muttering  thunder,  we  two 
guests  retired  to  our  chambers  in  Cragmire  Tower. 
Smith  had  contrived  to  give  me  my  instructions  in  a 
whisper,  and  five  minutes  after  entering  my  own 
room,  I  had  snuffed  the  candles,  slipped  a  wedge, 
which  he  had  given  me,  under  the  door,  crept  out 

228 


A  CRY  ON  THE  MOOR  229 

through  the  window  onto  the  guttered  ledge,  and 
joined  Smith  in  his  room.  He,  too,  had  extinguished 
his  candles,  and  the  place  was  in  darkness.  As  I 
climbed  in,  he  grasped  my  wrist  to  silence  me,  and 
turned  me  forcibly  toward  the  window. 

"Listen!  "  he  said. 

.  I  turned  and  looked  out  upon  a  prospect  which  had 
been  a  fit  setting  for  the  witch  scene  in  Macbeth. 
Thunder  clouds  hung  low  over  the  moor,  but  through 
them  ran  a  sort  of  chasm,  or  rift,  allowing  a  bar  of 
lurid  light  to  stretch  across  the  drear,  from  east  to 
west  —  a  sort  of  lane  walled  by  darkness.  There 
came  a  remote  murmuring,  as  of  a  troubled  sea  —  a 
hushed  and  distant  chorus;  and  sometimes  in  upon 
it  broke  the  drums  of  heaven.  In  the  west  lightning 
flickered,  though  but  faintly,  intermittently. 

Then  came  the  call. 

Out  of  the  blackness  of  the  moor  it  came,  wild  and 
distant—  "Help!  help!" 

"  Smith!  "  I  whispered—"  what  is  it?  What .  . ." 

"  Mr.  Smith !  "  came  the  agonized  cry  .  .  . 
"  Nayland  Smith,  help !  for  God's  sake.  .  .  ." 

"  Quick,  Smith!  "  I  cried,  "  quick,  man!  It's  Van 
Roon  —  he's  been  dragged  out  .  .  .  they  are  mur- 
dering him  .  .  ." 

Nayland  Smith  held  me  in  a  vise-like  grip,  silent, 
unmoved  1 

Louder  and  more  agonized  came  the  cry  for  aid, 
and  I  became  more  than  ever  certain  that  it  was  poor 
Van  Roon  who  uttered  it. 


230    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  Mr.  Smith  I  Dr.  Petrie !  for  God's  sake  come  . . . 
or  ...  it  will  be  ...  too  .  .  .  late  .  .  ." 

"Smith!"  I  said,  turning  furiously  upon  my 
friend,  "  if  you  are  going  to  remain  here  whilst  mur- 
der is  done,  /  am  not !  " 

My  blood  boiled  now  with  hot  resentment.  It 
was  incredible,  inhuman,  that  we  should  remain  there 
inert  whilst  a  fellow  man,  and  our  host  to  boot,  was 
being  done  to  death  out  there  in  the  darkness.  I 
exerted  all  my  strength  to  break  away;  but  although 
my  efforts  told  upon  him,  as  his  loud  breathing  re- 
vealed, Nayland  Smith  clung  to  me  tenaciously. 
Had  my  hands  been  free,  in  my  fury,  I  could  have 
struck  him,  for  the  pitiable  cries,  growing  fainter, 
now,  told  their  own  tale.  Then  Smith  spoke  — 
shortly  and  angrily  —  breathing  hard  between  the 
words. 

"  Be  quiet,  you  fool!  "  he  snapped;  "  it's  little  less 
than  an  insult,  Petrie,  to  think  me  capable  of  refusing 
help  where  help  is  needed  I  " 

Like  a  cold  douche  his  words  acted;  in  that  instant 
I  knew  myself  a  fool. 

'  You  remember  the  Call  of  Siva  ?  "  he  said,  thrust- 
ing me  away  irritably,  " —  two  years  ago,  and  what 
it  meant  to  those  who  obeyed  it?  " 

"  You  might  have  told  me  .  .  ." 

"  Told  you !  You  would  have  been  through  the 
window  before  I  had  uttered  two  words !  " 

I  realized  the  truth  of  his  assertion,  and  the  just- 
ness of  his  anger. 


A  CRY  ON  THE  MOOR  231 

"  Forgive  me,  old  man,"  I  said,  very  crestfallen, 
"  but  my  impulse  was  a  natural  one,  you'll  admit. 
You  must  remember  that  I  have  been  trained  never 
to  refuse  aid  when  aid  is  asked." 

"  Shut  up,  Petrie !  "  he  growled;  "  forget  it." 

The  cries  had  ceased  now,  entirely,  and  a  peal  of 
thunder,  louder  than  any  yet,  echoed  over  distant 
Sedgemoor.  The  chasm  of  light  splitting  the  heav- 
ens closed  in,  leaving  the  night  wholly  black. 

"Don't  talk!"  rapped  Smith;  "act!  You 
wedged  your  door?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Good.  Get  into  that  cupboard,  have  your 
Browning  ready,  and  keep  the  door  very  slightly 
ajar." 

He  was  in  that  mood  of  repressed  fever  which  I 
knew  and  which  always  communicated  itself  to  me. 
I  spoke  no  further  word,  but  stepped  into  the  ward- 
robe indicated  and  drew  the  door  nearly  shut.  The 
recess  just  accommodated  me,  and  through  the  aper- 
ture I  could  see  the  bed,  vaguely,  the  open  window, 
and  part  of  the  opposite  wall.  I  saw  Smith  cross 
the  floor,  as  a  mighty  clap  of  thunder  boomed  over 
the  house. 

A  gleam  of  lightning  flickered  through  the  gloom. 

I  saw  the  bed  for  a  moment,  distinctly,  and  it 
appeared  to  me  that  Smith  lay  therein,  with  the  sheets 
pulled  up  over  his  head.  The  light  was  gone,  and  I 
could  hear  big  drops  of  rain  pattering  upon  the 
leaden  gutter  below  the  open  window. 


232    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

My  mood  was  strange,  detached,  and  character- 
ized by  vagueness.  That  Van  Roon  lay  dead  upon 
the  moor  I  was  convinced ;  and  —  although  I  recog- 
nized that  it  must  be  a  sufficient  one  —  I  could  not 
even  dimly  divine  the  reason  why  we  had  refrained 
from  lending  him  aid.  To  have  failed  to  save  him, 
knowing  his  peril,  would  have  been  bad  enough;  to 
have  refused,  I  thought  was  shameful.  Better  to 
have  shared  his  fate  —  yet  .  .  . 

The  downpour  was  increasing,  and  beating  now  a 
regular  tattoo  upon  the  gutterway.  Then,  splitting 
the  oblong  of  greater  blackness  which  marked  the 
casement,  quivered  dazzlingly  another  flash  of  light- 
ning in  which  I  saw  the  bed  again,  with  that  impres- 
sion of  Smith  curled  up  in  it.  The  blinding  light 
died  out;  came  the  crash  of  thunder,  harsh  and  fear- 
some, more  imminently  above  the  tower  than  ever. 
The  building  seemed  to  shake. 

Coming  as  they  did,  horror  and  the  wrath  of 
heaven  together,  suddenly,  crashingly,  black  and  an- 
gry after  the  fairness  of  the  day,  these  happenings 
and  their  setting  must  have  terrorized  the  stoutest 
heart;  but  somehow  I  seemed  detached,  as  I  have 
said,  and  set  apart  from  the  whirl  of  events;  a  spec- 
tator. Even  when  a  vague  yellow  light  crept  across 
the  room  from  the  direction  of  the  door,  and  flick- 
ered unsteadily  on  the  bed,  I  remained  unmoved  to  a 
certain  degree,  although  passively  alive  to  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  incident.  I  realized  that  the  ultimate 
issue  was  at  hand,  but  either  because  I  was  emotion- 


A  CRY  ON  THE  MOOR  233 

Jly  exhausted,  or  from  some  other  cause,  the  pend- 
•  fig  climax  failed  to  disturb  me. 

Going  on  tiptoe,  in  stockinged  feet,  across  my  field 
of  vision,  passed  Kegan  Van  Roon !  He  was  in  his 
shirt-sleeves  and  held  a  lighted  candle  in  one  hand 
whilst  with  the  other  he  shaded  it  against  the  draught 
from  the  window.  He  was  a  cripple  no  longer,  and 
the  smoked  glasses  were  discarded;  most  of  the  light, 
at  the  moment  when  first  I  saw  him,  shone  upon  his 
thin,  olive  face,  and  at  sight  of  his  eyes  much  of  the 
mystery  of  Cragmire  Tower  was  resolved.  For  they 
were  oblique,  very  slightly,  but  nevertheless  unmis- 
takably oblique.  Though  highly  educated,  and  pos- 
sibly an  American  citizen,  Fan  Roon  was  a  China- 
man! 

Upon  the  picture  of  his  face  as  I  saw  it  then,  I  do 
not  care  to  dwell.  It  lacked  the  unique  horror  of 
Dr.  Fu-Manchu's  unforgettable  countenance,  but  pos- 
sessed a  sort  of  animal  malignancy  which  the  latter 
lacked  .  .  .  He  approached  within  three  or  four 
feet  of  the  bed,  peering  —  peering.  Then,  with  a 
timidity  which  spoke  well  for  Nayland  Smith's  repu- 
tation, paused  and  beckoned  to  some  one  who  evi- 
dently stood  in  the  doorway  behind  him.  As  he 
did  so  I  noted  that  the  legs  of  his  trousers  were  caked 
with  greenish  brown  mud  nearly  up  to  the  knees. 

The  huge  mulatto,  silent-footed,  crossed  to  the 
bed  in  three  strides.  He  was  stripped  to  the  waist, 
and  excepting  some  few  professional  athletes,  I  had 
never  seen  a  torso  to  compare  with  that  which,  brown 


234    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

and  glistening,  now  bent  over  Nayland  Smith.  The 
muscular  development  was  simply  enormous;  the  man 
had  a  neck  like  a  column,  and  the  thews  around  his 
back  and  shoulders  were  like  ivy  tentacles  wreathing 
some  gnarled  oak. 

Whilst  Van  Roon,  his  evil  gaze  upon  the  bed,  held 
the  candle  aloft,  the  mulatto,  with  a  curious  prepar- 
atory writhing  movement  of  the  mighty  shoulders, 
lowered  his  outstretched  fingers  to  the  disordered 
bed  linen  .  .  . 

I  pushed  open  the  cupboard  door  and  thrust  out 
the  Browning.  As  I  did  so  a  dramatic  thing  hap- 
pened. A  tall,  gaunt  figure  shot  suddenly  upright 
from  beyond  the  bed.  It  was  Nayland  Smith ! 

Upraised  in  his  hand  he  held  a  heavy  walking  cane. 
I  knew  the  handle  to  be  leaded,  and  I  could  judge  of 
the  force  with  which  he  wielded  it  by  the  fact  that  it 
cut  the  air  with  a  keen  swishing  sound.  It  descended 
upon  the  back  of  the  mulatto's  skull  with  a  sickening 
thud,  and  the  great  brown  body  dropped  inert  upon 
the  padded  bed  —  in  which  not  Smith,  but  his  grip, 
reposed.  There  was  no  word,  no  cry.  Then: 

"Shoot,  Petrie!     Shoot  the  fiend!     Shoot  .  .  ." 

Van  Roon,  dropping  the  candle,  in  the  falling 
gleam  of  which  I  saw  the  whites  of  the  oblique  eyes, 
turned  and  leaped  from  the  room  with  the  agility  of  a 
wild  cat.  The  ensuing  darkness  was  split  by  a  streak 
of  lightning  .  .  .  and  there  was  Nayland  Smith 
scrambling  around  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  making 
for  the  door  in  hot  pursuit. 


A  CRY  ON  THE  MOOR  235 

We  gained  it  almost  together.  Smith  had 
dropped  the  cane,  and  now  held  his  pistol  in  his  hand. 
Together  we  fired  into  the  chasm  of  the  corridor, 
and  in  the  flash,  saw  Van  Roon  hurling  himself 
down  the  stairs.  He  went  silently  in  his  stockinged 
feet,  and  our  own  clatter  was  drowned  by  the  aw- 
ful booming  of  the  thunder  which  now  burst  over  us 
again. 

Crack !  —  crack !  —  crack !  Three  times  our  pis- 
tols spat  venomously  after  the  flying  figure  .  .  . 
then  we  had  crossed  the  hall  below  and  were  in  the 
wilderness  of  the  night  with  the  rain  descending  upon 
us  in  sheets.  Vaguely  I  saw  the  white  shirt-sleeves 
of  the  fugitive  near  the  corner  of  the  stone  fence.  A 
moment  he  hesitated,  then  darted  away  inland,  not 
toward  Saul,  but  toward  the  moor  and  the  cup  of  the 
inland  bay. 

"  Steady,  Petrie!  steady!  "  cried  Nayland  Smith. 
He  ran,  panting,  beside  me.  "  It  is  the  path  to  the 
mire."  He  breathed  sibilantly  between  every  few 
words.  "  It  was  out  there  .  .  .  that  he  hoped  to 
lure  us  ...  with  the  cry  for  help." 

A  great  blaze  of  lightning  illuminated  the  land- 
scape as  far  as  the  eye  could  see.  Ahead  of  us  a  fly- 
ing shape,  hair  lank  and  glistening  in  the  downpour, 
followed  a  faint  path  skirting  that  green  tongue  of 
morass  which  we  had  noted  from  the  upland.  It 
was  Kegan  Van  Roon.  He  glanced  over  his  shoul- 
der, showing  a  yellow,  terror-stricken  face.  We 
were  gaining  upon  him.  Darkness  fell,  and  the  thun- 


236    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

der  cracked  and  boomed  as  though  the  very  moor 
were  splitting  about  us. 

"  Another  fifty  yards,  Petrie,"  breathed  Nayland 
Smith,  "  and  after  that  it's  unchartered  ground." 

On  we  went  through  the  rain  and  the  darkness; 
then: 

"Slow  up!  slow  up!"  cried  Smith.  "It  feels 
soft!" 

Indeed,  already  I  had  made  one  false  step  —  and 
the  hungry  mire  had  fastened  upon  my  foot,  almost 
tripping  me. 

"Lost  the  path!  " 

We  stopped  dead.  The  falling  rain  walled  us  in. 
I  dared  not  move,  for  I  knew  that  the  mire,  the  de- 
vouring mire,  stretched,  eager,  close  about  my  feet. 
We  were  both  waiting  for  the  next  flash  of  lightning, 
I  think,  but,  before  it  came,  out  of  the  darkness  ahead 
of  us  rose  a  cry  that  sometimes  rings  in  my  ears  to 
this  hour.  Yet  it  was  no  more  than  a  repetition  of 
that  which  had  called  to  us,  deathfully,  awhile  before. 

"Help!  help!  for  God's  sake  help!  Quick!  I 
am  sinking  .  .  ." 

Nayland  Smith  grasped  my  arm  furiously. 

"  We  dare  not  move,  Petrie  —  we  dare  not 
move !  "  he  breathed.  "  It's  God's  justice  —  visible 
for  once." 

Then  came  the  lightning;  and  —  ignoring  a  split- 
ting crash  behind  us  —  we  both  looked  ahead,  over 
the  mire. 

Just  on  the  edge  of  the  venomous  green  path,  n-ot 


A  CRY  ON  THE  MOOR  237 

thirty  yards  away,  I  saw  the  head  and  shoulders  and 
upstretched,  appealing  arms  of  Van  Roon.  Even  as 
the  lightning  flickered  and  we  saw  him,  he  was  gone ; 
with  one  last,  long,  drawn-out  cry,  horribly  like  the 
mournful  wail  of  a  sea  gull,  he  was  gone ! 

That  eerie  light  died,  and  in  the  instant  before  the 
sound  of  the  thunder  came  shatteringly,  we  turned 
about  ...  in  time  to  see  Cragmire  Tower,  a  blacker 
silhouette  against  the  night,  topple  and  fall !  A  red 
glow  began  to  be  perceptible  above  the  building. 
The  thunder  came  booming  through  the  caverns  of 
space.  Nayland  Smith  lowered  his  wet  face  close  to 
mine  and  shouted  in  my  ear: 

"  Kegan  Van  Roon  never  returned  from  China. 
It  was  a  trap.  Those  were  two  creatures  of  Dr. 
Fu-Manchu  .  .  ." 

The  thunder  died  away,  hollowly,  echoing  over  the 
distant  sea  .  .  . 

"  That  light  on  the  moor  to-night?  " 

"  You  have  not  learned  the  Morse  Code,  Petrie. 
It  was  a  signal,  and  it  read:  —  S  M  I  T  H  .  .  . 
S  O  S." 

"Well?" 

"  I  took  the  chance,  as  you  know.  And  it  was 
Karamaneh !  She  knew  of  the  plot  to  bury  us  in  the 
mire.  She  had  followed  from  London,  but  could  do 
nothing  until  dusk.  God  forgive  me  if  I've  mis- 
judged her  —  for  we  owe  her  our  lives  to-night." 

Flames  were  bursting  up  from  the  building  beside 
the  ruin  of  the  ancient  tower  which  had  faced  the 


23 8     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

storms  of  countless  ages  only  to  succumb  at  last. 
The  lightning  literally  had  cloven  it  in  twain. 

"The  mulatto?  .  .  ." 

Again  the  lightning  flashed,  and  we  saw  the  path 
and  began  to  retrace  our  steps.  Nayland  Smith 
turned  to  me;  his  face  was  very  grim  in  that  un- 
earthly light,  and  his  eyes  shone  like  steel. 

"  I  killed  him,  Petrie  ...  as  I  meant  to  do." 

From  out  over  Sedgemoor  it  came,  cracking  and 
rolling  and  booming  toward  us,  swelling  in  volume  to 
a  stupendous  climax,  that  awful  laughter  of  Jove  the 
destroyer  of  Cragmire  Tower. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

STORY  OF  THE  GABLES 

IN  looking  over  my  notes  dealing  with  the  second 
phase  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu's  activities  in  England, 
I  find  that  one  of  the  worst  hours  of  my  life  was  as- 
sociated with  the  singular  and  seemingly  inconsequent 
adventure  of  the  fiery  hand.  I  shall  deal  with  it  in 
this  place,  begging  you  to  bear  with  me  if  I  seem  to 
digress. 

Inspector  Weymouth  called  one  morning,  shortly 
after  the  Van  Roon  episode,  and  entered  upon  a 
surprising  account  of  a  visit  to  a  house  at  Hampstead 
which  enjoyed  the  sinister  reputation  of  being  unin- 
habitable. 

"  But  in  what  way  does  the  case  enter  into  your 
province?  "  inquired  Nayland  Smith,  idly  tapping  out 
his  pipe  on  a  bar  of  the  grate. 

We  had  not  long  finished  breakfast,  but  from  an 
early  hour  Smith  had  been  at  his  eternal  smoking, 
which  only  the  advent  of  the  meal  had  interrupted. 

"  Well,"  replied  the  inspector,  who  occupied  a  big 
armchair  near  the  window,  "  I  was  sent  to  look  into 
it,  I  suppose,  because  I  had  nothing  better  to  do  at 
the  moment." 

"  Ah!  "  jerked  Smith,  glancing  over  his  shoulder. 
239 


24o    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

The  ejaculation  had  a  veiled  significance;  for  our 
quest  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  had  come  to  an  abrupt  ter- 
mination by  reason  of  the  fact  that  all  trace  of  that 
malignant  genius,  and  of  the  group  surrounding 
him,  had  vanished  with  the  destruction  of  Cragmire 
Tower. 

"  The  house  is  called  the  Gables,"  continued  the 
Scotland  Yard  man,  "  and  I  knew  I  was  on  a  wild 
goose  chase  from  the  first — " 

"Why?"  snapped  Smith. 

"  Because  I  was  there  before,  six  months  ago  or  so 
—  just  before  your  present  return  to  England  —  and 
I  knew  what  to  expect." 

Smith  looked  up  with  some  faint  dawning  of  inter- 
est perceptible  in  his  manner. 

"  I  was  unaware,"  he  said  with  a  slight  smile, 
"  that  the  cleaning-up  of  haunted  houses  came  within 
the  jurisdiction  of  Scotland  Yard.  I  am  learning 
something." 

"  In  the  ordinary  way,"  replied  the  big  man  good- 
humoredly,  "  it  doesn't.  But  a  sudden  death  always 
excites  suspicion,  and — " 

"A  sudden  death?"  I  said,  glancing  up;  "you 
didn't  explain  that  the  ghost  had  killed  any  one!  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  a  poor  hand  at  yarn-spinning, 
Doctor,"  said  Weymouth,  turning  his  blue,  twinkling 
eyes  in  my  direction.  "  Two  people  have  died  at 
the  Gables  within  the  last  six  months." 

'  You  begin  to  interest  me,"  declared  Smith,  and 
there  came  something  of  the  old,  eager  look  into  his 


STORY  OF  THE  GABLES  241 

gaunt  face,  as,  having  lighted  his  pipe,  he  tossed  the 
match-end  into  the  hearth. 

"  I  had  hoped  for  some  little  excitement,  myself," 
confessed  the  inspector.  "  This  dead-end,  with  not 
a  ghost  of  a  clue  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  yellow 
fiend,  has  been  getting  on  my  nerves  — " 

Nayland  Smith  grunted  sympathetically. 

"  Although  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  has  been  in  England 
for  some  months,  now,"  continued  Weymouth,  "  I 
have  never  set  eyes  upon  him;  the  house  we  raided 
in  Museum  Street  proved  to  be  empty;  in  a  word,  I 
am  wasting  my  time.  So  that  I  volunteered  to  run 
up  to  Hampstead  and  look  into  the  matter  of  the 
Gables,  principally  as  a  distraction.  It's  a  queer 
business,  but  more  in  the  Psychical  Research  Society's 
line  than  mine,  I'm  afraid.  Still,  if  there  were  no 
Dr.  Fu-Manchu  it  might  be  of  interest  to  you  —  and 
to  you,  Dr.  Petrie,  because  it  illustrates  the  fact,  that, 
given  the  right  sort  of  subject,  death  can  be  brought 
about  without  any  elaborate  mechanism  —  such  as 
our  Chinese  friends  employ." 

"  You  interest  me  more  and  more,"  declared  Smith, 
stretching  himself  in  the  long,  white  cane  rest-chair. 

"  Two  men,  both  fairly  sound,  except  that  the  first 
one  had  an  asthmatic  heart,  have  died  at  the  Gables 
without  any  one  laying  a  little  finger  upon  them. 
Oh !  there  was  no  jugglery !  They  weren't  poisoned, 
or  bitten  by  venomous  insects,  or  suffocated,  or  any- 
thing like  that.  They  just  died  of  fear  —  stark 
fear." 


242     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

With  my  elbows  resting  upon  the  table  cover,  and 
my  chin  in  my  hands,  I  was  listening  attentively,  now, 
and  Nayland  Smith,  a  big  cushion  behind  his  head, 
was  watching  the  speaker  with  a  keen  and  speculative 
look  in  those  steely  eyes  of  his. 

"  You  imply  that  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  has  something  to 
learn  from  the  Gables?  "  he  jerked. 

Weymouth  nodded  stolidly. 

"  I  can't  work  up  anything  like  amazement  in  these 
days,"  continued  the  latter;  "  every  other  case  seems 
stale  and  hackneyed  alongside  the  case.  But  I  must 
confess  that  when  the  Gables  came  on  the  books  of 
the  Yard  the  second  time,  I  began  to  wonder.  I 
thought  there  might  be  some  tangible  clue,  some  link 
connecting  the  two  victims;  perhaps  some  evidence  of 
robbery  or  of  revenge  —  of  some  sort  of  motive. 
In  short,  I  hoped  to  find  evidence  of  human  agency  at 
work,  but,  as  before,  I  was  disappointed." 

"  It's  a  legitimate  case  of  a  haunted  house,  then?  " 
,said  Smith. 

'  Yes ;  we  find  them  occasionally,  these  uninhabit- 
able places,  where  there  is  something,  something 
malignant  and  harmful  to  human  life,  but  something 
that  you  cannot  arrest,  that  you  cannot  hope  to  bring 
into  court." 

"  Ah,"  replied  Smith  slowly;  "  I  suppose  you  are 
right.  There  are  historic  instances,  of  course: 
Glamys  Castle  and  Spedlins  Tower  in  Scotland,  Peel 
Castle,  Isle  of  Man,  with  its  Maudhe  Dhug,  the  gray 


STORY  OF  THE  GABLES  243 

lady  of  Rainham  Hall,  the  headless  horses  of  Cai- 
stor,  the  Wesley  ghost  of  Epworth  Rectory,  and 
others.  But  I  have  never  come  in  personal  contact 
with  such  a  case,  and  if  I  did  I  should  feel  very 
humiliated  to  have  to  confess  that  there  was  any 
agency  which  could  produce  a  physical  result  — 
death  —  but  which  was  immune  from  physical  retali- 
ation." 

Weymouth  nodded  his  head  again. 

"  /  might  feel  a  bit  sour  about  it,  too,"  he  replied, 
"  if  it  were  not  that  I  haven't  much  pride  left  in  these 
days,  considering  the  show  of  physical  retaliation  I 
have  made  against  Dr.  Fu-Manchu." 

"  A  home  thrust,  Weymouth!  "  snapped  Nayland 
Smith,  with  one  of  those  rare,  boyish  laughs  of  his. 
"  We're  children  to  that  Chinese  doctor,  Inspector, 
to  that  weird  product  of  a  weird  people  who  are  as 
old  in  evil  as  the  pyramids  are  old  in  mystery.  But 
about  the  Gables?  " 

"  Well,  it's  an  uncanny  place.  You  mentioned 
Glamys  Castle  a  moment  ago,  and  it's  possible  to 
understand  an  old  stronghold  like  that  being  haunted, 
but  the  Gables  was  only  built  about  1870;  it's  quite 
a  modern  house.  It  was  built  for  a  wealthy  Quaker 
family,  and  they  occupied  it,  uninterruptedly  and 
apparently  without  anything  unusual  occurring,  for 
over  forty  years.  Then  it  was  sold  to  a  Mr.  Mad- 
dison  —  and  Mr.  Maddison  died  there  six  months 
ago." 


244    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANC1IU 

"  Maddison?  "  said  Smith  sharply,  staring  across 
at  Weymouth.  "What  was  he?  Where  did  he 
come  from?  " 

"  He  was  a  retired  tea-planter  from  Colombo," 
replied  the  inspector. 

"Colombo?" 

"  There  was  a  link  with  the  East,  certainly,  if 
that's  what  you  are  thinking;  and  it  was  this  fact 
which  interested  me  at  the  time,  and  which  led  me 
to  waste  precious  days  and  nights  on  the  case.  But 
there  was  no  mortal  connection  between  this  liverish 
individual  and  the  schemes  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu.  I'm 
certain  of  that." 

"  And  how  did  he  die?"  I  asked,  interestedly. 

"  He  just  died  in  his  chair  one  evening,  in  the 
room  which  he  used  as  a  library.  It  was  his  custom 
to  sit  there  every  night,  when  there  were  no  visitors, 
reading,  until  twelve  o'clock  or  later.  He  was  a 
bachelor,  and  his  household  consisted  of  a  cook,  a 
housemaid,  and  a  man  who  had  been  with  him  for 
thirty  years,  I  believe.  At  the  time  of  Mr.  Maddi- 
son's  death,  his  household  had  recently  been  deprived 
of  two  of  its  members.  The  cook  and  housemaid 
both  resigned  one  morning,  giving  as  their  reason 
the  fact  that  the  place  was  haunted." 

"In  what  way?" 

"  I  interviewed  the  precious  pair  at  the  time,  and 
they  told  me  absurd  and  various  tales  about  dark 
figures  wandering  along  the  corridors  and  bending 
over  them  in  bed  at  night,  whispering;  but  their  chief 


STORY  OF  THE  GABLES  245 

trouble  was  a  continuous  ringing  of  bells  about  the 
house." 

"Bells?" 

"  They  said  that  it  became  unbearable.  Night 
and  day  there  were  bells  ringing  all  over  the  house. 
At  any  rate,  they  went,  and  for  three  or  four  days 
the  Gables  was  occupied  only  by  Mr.  Maddison  and 
his  man,  whose  name  was  Stevens.  I  interviewed 
the  latter  also,  and  he  was  an  altogether  more  reli- 
able witness ;  a  decent,  steady  sort  of  man  whose  story 
impressed  me  very  much  at  the  time." 

"  Did  he  confirm  the  ringing?  " 

"  He  swore  to  it  —  a  sort  of  jangle,  sometimes  up 
in  the  air,  near  the  ceilings,  and  sometimes  under  the 
floor,  like  the  shaking  of  silver  bells." 

Nayland  Smith  stood  up  abruptly  and  began  to 
pace  the  room,  leaving  great  trails  of  blue-gray  smoke 
behind  him. 

'  Your  story  is  sufficiently  interesting,  Inspector,'* 
he  declared,  "  even  to  divert  my  mind  from  the  eter- 
nal contemplation  of  the  Fu-Manchu  problem.  This 
would  appear  to  be  distinctly  a  case  of  an  '  astral 
bell '  such  as  we  sometimes  hear  of  in  India." 

"  It  was  Stevens,"  continued  Weymouth,  "  who 
found  Mr.  Maddison.  He  (Stevens)  had  been  out 
on  business  connected  with  the  household  arrange- 
ments, and  at  about  eleven  o'clock  he  returned,  let- 
ting himself  in  with  a  key.  There  was  a  light  in  the 
library,  and  getting  no  response  to  his  knocking, 
Stevens  entered.  He  found  his  master  sitting  bolt 


246    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

upright  in  a  chair,  clutching  the  arms  with  rigid 
fingers  and  staring  straight  before  him  with  a  look 
of  such  frightful  horror  on  his  face,  that  Stevens 
positively  ran  from  the  room  and  out  of  the  house. 
Mr.  Maddison  was  stone  dead.  When  a  doctor, 
who  lives  at  no  great  distance  away,  came  and  exam- 
ined him,  he  could  find  no  trace  of  violence  whatever; 
he  had  apparently  died  of  fright,  to  judge  from  the 
expression  on  his  face." 

"Anything  else?" 

"  Only  this :  I  learnt,  indirectly,  that  the  last 
member  of  the  Quaker  family  to  occupy  the  house 
had  apparently  witnessed  the  apparition,  which  had 
led  to  his  vacating  the  place.  I  got  the  story  from 
the  wife  of  a  man  who  had  been  employed  as  gar- 
dener there  at  that  time.  The  apparition  —  which 
he  witnessed  in  the  hallway,  if  I  remember  rightly  — 
took  the  form  of  a  sort  of  luminous  hand  clutching  a 
long,  curved  knife." 

"Oh,  Heavens  1"  cried  Smith,  and  laughed 
shortly;  "  that's  quite  in  order!  " 

"  This  gentleman  told  no  one  of  the  occurrence 
until  after  he  had  left  the  house,  no  doubt  in  order 
that  the  place  should  not  acquire  an  evil  reputation. 
Most  of  the  original  furniture  remained,  and  Mr. 
Maddison  took  the  house  furnished.  I  don't  think 
there  can  be  any  doubt  that  what  killed  him  was  fear 
at  seeing  a  repetition  — " 

"  Of  the  fiery  hand?  "  concluded  Smith. 

"  Quite  so.     Well,  I  examined  the  Gables  pretty 


STORY  OF  THE  GABLES  247 

closely,  and,  with  another  Scotland  Yard  man,  spent 
a  night  in  the  empty  house.  We  saw  nothing;  but 
once,  very  faintly,  we  heard  the  ringing  of  bells." 

Smith  spun  around  upon  him  rapidly. 

"  You  can  swear  to  that?  "  he  snapped. 

"  I  can  swear  to  it,"  declared  Weymouth  stolidly. 
"  It  seemed  to  be  over  our  heads.  We  were  sitting 
in  the  dining-room.  Then  it  was  gone,  and  we  heard 
nothing  more  whatever  of  an  unusual  nature.  Fol- 
lowing the  death  of  Mr.  Maddison,  the  Gables  re- 
mained empty  until  a  while  ago,  when  a  French  gen- 
tleman, name  Lejay,  leased  it — " 

"Furnished?" 

"  Yes;  nothing  was  removed  — " 

"  Who  kept  the  place  in  order?  " 

"  A  married  couple  living  in  the  neighborhood 
undertook  to  do  so.  The  man  attended  to  the  lawn 
and  so  forth,  and  the  woman  came  once  a  week,  I 
believe,  to  clean  up  the  house." 

"And  Lejay?" 

"  He  came  in  only  last  week,  having  leased  the 
house  for  six  months.  His  family  were  to  have 
joined  him  in  a  day  or  two,  and  he,  with  the  aid  of 
the  pair  I  have  just  mentioned,  and  assisted  by  a 
French  servant  he  brought  over  with  him,  was  put- 
ting the  place  in  order.  At  about  twelve  o'clock  on 
Friday  night  this  servant  ran  into  a  neighboring 
house  screaming  '  the  fiery  hand !  '  and  when  at  last 
a  constable  arrived  and  a  frightened  group  went  up 
the  avenue  of  the  Gables,  they  found  M.  Lejay,  dead 


248     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

in  the  avenue,  near  the  steps  just  outside  the  hall 
door!  He  had  the  same  face  of  horror  .  .  ." 

"  What  a  tale  for  the  press !  "  snapped  Smith. 

"  The  owner  has  managed  to  keep  it  quiet  so  far, 
but  this  time  I  think  it  will  leak  into  the  press  — 
yes." 

There  was  a  short  silence;  then: 

"  And  you  have  been  down  to  the  Gables  again?  " 

"  I  was  there  on  Saturday,  but  there's  not  a  scrap 
of  evidence.  The  man  undoubtedly  died  of  fright 
in  the  same  way  as  Maddison.  The  place  ought  to 
be  pulled  down;  it's  unholy." 

"  Unholy  is  the  word,"  I  said.  "  I  never  heard 
anything  like  it.  This  M.  Lejay  had  no  enemies? 
—  there  could  be  no  possible  motive?  " 

"  None  whatever.  He  was  a  business  man  from 
Marseilles,  and  his  affairs  necessitated  his  remaining 
in  or  near  London  for  some  considerable  time;  there-' 
fore,  he  decided  to  make  his  headquarters  here, 
temporarily,  and  leased  the  Gables  with  that  inten- 
tion." 

Nayland  Smith  was  pacing  the  floor  with  increas- 
ing rapidity;  he  was  tugging  at  the  lobe  of  his  left 
ear  and  his  pipe  had  long  since  gone  out. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  BELLS 

I  STARTED  to  my  feet  as  a  tall,  bearded  man 
swung  open  the  door  and  hurled  himself  impet- 
uously into  the  room.  He  wore  a  silk  hat,  which 
fitted  him  very  ill,  and  a  black  frock  coat  which  did 
not  fit  him  at  all. 

"It's  all  right,  Petrie!"  cried  the  apparition; 
"  I've  leased  the  Gables!" 

It  was  Nayland  Smith !  I  stared  at  him  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"  The  first  time  I  have  employed  a  disguise,"  con- 
tinued my  friend  rapidly,  "  since  the  memorable 
episode  of  the  false  pigtail."  He  threw  a  small 
brown  leather  grip  upon  the  floor.  "  In  case  you 
should  care  to  visit  the  house,  Petrie,  I  have  brought 
these  things.  My  tenancy  commences  to-night!  " 

Two  days  had  elapsed,  and  I  had  entirely  forgot- 
ten the  strange  story  of  the  Gables  which  Inspector 
Weymouth  had  related  to  us ;  evidently  it  was  other- 
wise with  my  friend,  and  utterly  at  a  loss  for  an  ex- 
planation of  his  singular  behavior,  I  stooped  mechan- 
ically and  opened  the  grip.  It  contained  an  odd 
assortment  of  garments,  and  amongst  other  things 

249 


250     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

several  gray  wigs  and  a  pair  of  gold-rimmed  spec- 
tacles. 

Kneeling  there  with  this  strange  litter  about  me,  I 
looked  up  amazedly.  Nayland  Smith,  with  the  un- 
suitable silk  hat  set  right  upon  the  back  of  his  head, 
was  pacing  the  room  excitedly,  his  fuming  pipe  pro- 
truding from  the  tangle  of  factitious  beard. 

"  You  see,  Petrie,"  he  began  again,  rapidly,  "  I 
did  not  entirely  trust  the  agent.  I've  leased  the 
house  in  the  name  of  Professor  Maxton  .  .  ." 

"  But,  Smith,"  I  cried,  "  what  possible  reason  can 
there  be  for  disguise  ?  " 

"  There's  every  reason,"  he  snapped. 

"  Why  should  you  interest  yourself  in  the  Ga- 
bles?" ' 

"  Does  no  explanation  occur  to  you?  " 

"None  whatever;  to  me  the  whole  thing  smacks 
of  stark  lunacy." 

"  Then  you  won't  come?  " 

"  I've  never  stuck  at  anything,  Smith,"  I  replied, 
"  however  undignified,  when  it  has  seemed  that  my 
presence  could  be  of  the  slightest  use." 

As  I  rose  to  my  feet,  Smith  stepped  in  front  of  me, 
and  the  steely  gray  eyes  shone  out  strangely  from  the 
altered  face.  He  clapped  his  hands  upon  my  shoul- 
ders. 

"  If  I  assure  you  that  your  presence  is  necessary  to 
my  safety,"  he  said  — "  that  if  you  fail  me  I  must 
seek  another  companion  —  will  you  come?  " 

Intuitively,  I  knew  that  he  was  keeping  something 


THE  BELLS  251 

back,  and  I  was  conscious  of  some  resentment,  but 
nevertheless  my  reply  was  a  foregone  conclusion,  and 
—  with  the  borrowed  appearance  of  an  extremely 
untidy  old  man  —  I  crept  guiltily  out  of  my  house 
that  evening  and  into  the  cab  which  Smith  had  wait- 
ing. 

The  Gables  was  a  roomy  and  rambling  place  lying 
back  a  considerable  distance  from  the  road.  A  semi- 
circular drive  gave  access  to  the  door,  and  so  densely 
wooded  was  the  ground,  that  for  the  most  part  the 
drive  was  practically  a  tunnel  —  a  verdant  tunnel. 
A  high  brick  wall  concealed  the  building  from  the 
point  of  view  of  any  one  on  the  roadway,  but  either 
horn  of  the  crescent  drive  terminated  at  a  heavy, 
wrought-iron  gateway. 

Smith  discharged  the  cab  at  the  corner  of  the  nar- 
row and  winding  road  upon  which  the  Gables  fronted. 
It  was  walled  in  on  both  sides;  on  the  left  the  wall 
being  broken  by  tradesmen's  entrances  to  the  houses 
fronting  upon  another  street,  and  on  the  right  follow- 
ing, uninterruptedly,  the  grounds  of  the  Gables.  As 
we  came  to  the  gate : 

"  Nothing  now,"  said  Smith,  pointing  into  the 
darkness  of  the  road  before  us,  "  except  a  couple  of 
studios,  until  one  comes  to  the  Heath." 

He  inserted  the  key  in  the  lock  of  the  gate  and 
swung  it  creakingly  open.  I  looked  into  the  black 
arch  of  the  avenue,  thought  of  the  haunted  residence 
that  lay  hidden  somewhere  beyond,  of  those  who  had 
died  in  it  —  especially  of  the  one  who  had  died  there 


252     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

under  the  trees  —  and  found  myself  out  of  love  with 
the  business  of  the  night. 

"  Come  on!  "  said  Nayland  Smith  briskly,  holding 
the  gate  open;  "  there  should  be  a  fire  in  the  library 
and  refreshments,  if  the  charwoman  has  followed  in- 
structions." 

I  heard  the  great  gate  clang  to  behind  us.  Even 
had  there  been  any  moon  (and  there  was  none)  I 
doubted  if  more  than  a  patch  or  two  of  light  could 
have  penetrated  there.  The  darkness  was  extraor- 
dinary. Nothing  broke  it,  and  I  think  Smith  must 
have  found  his  way  by  the  aid  of  some  sixth  sense. 
At  any  rate,  I  saw  nothing  of  the  house  until  I  stood 
some  five  paces  from  the  steps  leading  up  to  the 
porch.  A  light  was  burning  in  the  hallway,  but 
dimly  and  inhospitably;  of  the  fagade  of  the  building 
I  could  perceive  little. 

When  we  entered  the  hall  and  the  door  was  closed 
behind  us,  I  began  wondering  anew  what  purpose  my 
friend  hoped  to  serve  by  a  vigil  in  this  haunted  place. 
There  was  a  light  in  the  library,  the  door  of  which 
was  ajar,  and  on  the  large  table  were  decanters,  a 
siphon,  and  some  biscuits  and  sandwiches.  A  large 
grip  stood  upon  the  floor,  also.  For  some  reason 
which  was  a  mystery  to  me,  Smith  had  decided  that 
we  must  assume  false  names  whilst  under  the  roof  of 
the  Gables;  and: 

"  Now,  Pearce,"  he  said,  "  a  whisky-and-soda  be- 
fore we  look  around?  " 

The  proposal  was  welcome   enough,   for  I   felt 


THE  BELLS  253 

strangely  dispirited,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  in  my 
strange  disguise,  not  a  little  ridiculous. 

All  my  nerves,  no  doubt,  were  highly  strung,  and 
my  sense  of  hearing  unusually  acute,  for  I  went  in 
momentary  expectation  of  some  uncanny  happening. 
I  had  not  long  to  wait.  As  I  raised  the  glass  to  my 
lips  and  glanced  across  the  table  at  my  friend,  I  heard 
the  first  faint  sound  heralding  the  coming  of  the  bells. 

It  did  not  seem  to  proceed  from  anywhere  within 
the  library,  but  from  some  distant  room,  far  away 
overhead.  A  musical  sound  it  was,  but  breaking  in 
upon  the  silence  of  that  ill-omened  house,  its  music 
was  the  music  of  terror.  In  a  faint  and  very  sweet 
cascade  it  rippled;  a  ringing  as  of  tiny  silver  bells. 

I  set  down  my  glass  upon  the  table,  and  rising 
slowly  from  the  chair  in  which  I  had  been  seated, 
stared  fixedly  at  my  companion,  who  was  staring  with 
equal  fixity  at  me.  I  could  see  that  I  had  not  been 
deluded;  Nayland  Smith  had  heard  the  ringing,  too. 

"  The  ghosts  waste  no  time !  "  he  said  softly. 
"  This  is  not  new  to  me;  I  spent  an  hour  here  last 
night  —  and  heard  the  same  sound  .  .  ." 

I  glanced  hastily  around  the  room.  It  was  fur- 
nished as  a  library,  and  contained  a  considerable  col- 
lection of  works,  principally  novels.  I  was  unable  to 
judge  of  the  outlook,  for  the  two  lofty  windows  were 
draped  with  heavy  purple  curtains  which  were  drawn 
close.  A  silk  shaded  lamp  swung  from  the  center  of 
the  ceiling,  and  immediately  over  the  table  by  which  I 
stood.  There  was  much  shadow  about  the  room; 


254    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

and  now  I  glanced  apprehensively  about  me,  but  es- 
pecially toward  the  open  door. 

In  that  breathless  suspense  of  listening  we  stood 
awhile;  then: 

"  There  it  is  again!  "  whispered  Smith,  tensely. 

The  ringing  of  bells  was  repeated,  and  seemingly 
much  nearer  to  us;  in  fact  it  appeared  to  come  from 
somewhere  above,  up  near  the  ceiling  of  the  room 
in  which  we  stood.  Simultaneously,  we  looked  up, 
then  Smith  laughed,  shortly. 

"  Instinctive,  I  suppose,"  he  snapped;  "  but  what 
do  we  expect  to  see  in  the  air?  " 

The  musical  sound  now  grew  in  volume;  the  first 
tiny  peal  seemed  to  be  reinforced  by  others  and  by 
others  again,  until  the  air  around  about  us  was  filled 
with  the  pealings  of  these  invisible  bell-ringers. 

Although,  as  I  have  said,  the  sound  was  rather 
musical  than  horrible,  it  was,  on  the  other  hand,  so 
utterly  unaccountable  as  to  touch  the  supreme  heights 
of  the  uncanny.  I  could  not  doubt  that  our  presence 
had  attracted  these  unseen  ringers  to  the  room  in 
which  we  stood,  and  I  knew  quite  well  that  I  was 
growing  pale.  This  was  the  room  in  which  at  least 
one  unhappy  occupant  of  the  Gables  had  died  of  fear. 
I  recognized  the  fact  that  if  this  mere  overture  were 
going  to  affect  my  nerves  to  such  an  extent,  I  could 
not  hope  to  survive  the  ordeal  of  the  night;  a  great 
effort  was  called  for.  I  emptied  my  glass  at  a  gulp, 
and  stared  across  the  table  at  Nayland  Smith  with  a 
sort  of  defiance.  He  was  standing  very  upright  and 


THE  BELLS  255 

motionless,  but  his  eyes  were  turning  right  and  left, 
searching  every  visible  corner  of  the  big  room. 

"  Good !  "  he  said  in  a  very  low  voice.  "  The  ter- 
rorizing power  of  the  Unknown  is  boundless,  but  we 
must  not  get  in  the  grip  of  panic,  or  we  could  not 
hope  to  remain  in  this  house  ten  minutes." 

I  nodded  without  speaking.  Then  Smith,  to  my 
amazement,  suddenly  began  to  speak  in  a  loud  voice, 
a  marked  contrast  to  that,  almost  a  whisper,  in  which 
he  had  spoken  formerly. 

"  My  dear  Pearce,"  he  cried,  "  do  you  hear  the 
ringing  of  bells?  " 

Clearly  the  latter  words  were  spoken  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  unseen  intelligence  controlling  these  mani- 
festations; and  although  I  regarded  such  finesse  as 
somewhat  wasted,  I  followed  my  friend's  lead  and 
replied  in  a  voice  as  loud  as  his  own: 

"  Distinctly,  Professor!  " 

Silence  followed  my  words,  a  silence  in  which  both 
stood  watchful  and  listening.  Then,  very  faintly,  I 
seemed  to  detect  the  silvern  ringing  receding  away 
through  distant  rooms.  Finally  it  became  inaudible, 
and  in  the  stillness  of  the  Gables  I  could  distinctly 
hear  my  companion  breathing.  For  fully  ten  min- 
utes we  two  remained  thus,  each  momentarily  ex- 
pecting a  repetition  of  the  ringing,  or  the  coming  of 
some  new  and  more  sinister  manifestation.  But  we 
heard  nothing  and  saw  nothing. 

"  Hand  me  that  grip,  and  don't  stir  until  I  come 
back!  "  hissed  Smith  in  my  ear. 


256     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

He  turned  and  walked  out  of  the  library,  his  boots 
creaking  very  loudly  in  that  awe-inspiring  silence. 

Standing  beside  the  table,  I  watched  the  open  door 
for  his  return,  crushing  down  a  dread  that  another 
form  than  his  might  suddenly  appear  there. 

I  could  hear  him  moving  from  room  to  room,  and 
presently,  as  I  waited  in  hushed,  tense  watchfulness, 
he  came  in,  depositing  the  grip  upon  the  table.  His 
eyes  were  gleaming  feverishly. 

"  The  house  is  haunted,  Pearce! "  he  cried. 
"  But  no  ghost  ever  frightened  me!  Come,  I  will 
show  you  your  room." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  FIERY  HAND 

SMITH  walked  ahead  of  me  upstairs;  he  had 
snapped  up  the  light  in  the  hallway,  and  now  he 
turned  and  cried  back  loudly: 

"  I  fear  we  should  never  get  servants  to  stay  here." 

Again  I  detected  the  appeal  to  a  hidden  Audience ; 
and  there  was  something  very  uncanny  in  the  idea. 
The  house  now  was  deathly  still;  the  ringing  had 
entirely  subsided.  In  the  upper  corridor  my  com- 
panion, who  seemed  to  be  well  acquainted  with  the 
position  of  the  switches,  again  turned  up  all  the  lights, 
and  in  pursuit  of  the  strange  comedy  which  he  saw 
fit  to  enact,  addressed  me  continuously  in  the  loud 
and  unnatural  voice  which  he  had  adopted  as  part 
of  his  disguise. 

We  looked  into  a  number  of  rooms  all  well  and 
comfortably  furnished,  but  although  my  imagination 
may  have  been  responsible  for  the  idea,  they  all 
seemed  to  possess  a  chilly  and  repellent  atmosphere. 
I  felt  that  to  essay  sleep  in  any  one  of  them  would  be 
the  merest  farce,  that  the  place  to  all  intents  and  pur- 
poses was  uninhabitable,  that  something  incalculably 
evil  presided  over  the  house. 

And  through  it  all,  so  obtuse  was  I,  that  no  glim- 
257 


258     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

mer  of  the  truth  entered  my  mind.  Outside  again 
in  the  long,  brightly  lighted  corridor,  we  stood  for  a 
moment  as  if  a  mutual  anticipation  of  some  new 
event  pending  had  come  to  us.  It  was  curious  — 
that  sudden  pulling  up  and  silent  questioning  of  one 
another;  because,  although  we  acted  thus,  no  sound 
had  reached  us.  A  few  seconds  later  our  anticipa- 
tion was  realized.  From  the  direction  of  the  stairs 
it  came  —  a  low  wailing  in  a  woman's  voice ;  and  the 
sweetness  of  the  tones  added  to  the  terror  of  the 
sound.  I  clutched  at  Smith's  arm  convulsively  whilst 
that  uncanny  cry  rose  and  fell  —  rose  and  fell  —  and 
died  away. 

Neither  of  us  moved  immediately.  My  mind  was 
working  with  feverish  rapidity  and  seeking  to  run 
down  a  memory  which  the  sound  had  stirred  into 
faint  quickness.  My  heart  was  still  leaping  wildly 
when  the  wailing  began  again,  rising  and  falling  in 
regular  cadence.  At  that  instant  I  identified  it. 

During  the  time  Smith  and  I  had  spent  together 
in  Egypt,  two  years  before,  searching  for  Kara- 
maneh,  I  had  found  myself  on  one  occasion  in  the 
neighborhood  of  a  native  cemetery  near  to  Bedra- 
sheen.  Now,  the  scene  which  I  had  witnessed  there 
rose  up  again  vividly  before  me,  and  I  seemed  to  see 
a  little  group  of  black-robed  women  clustered  to- 
gether about  a  native  grave;  for  the  wailing  which 
now  was  dying  away  again  in  the  Gables  was  the 
same,  or  almost  the  same,  as  the  wailing  of  those 
Egyptian  mourners. 


THE  FIERY  HAND  259 

The  house  was  very  silent  again,  now.  My  fore- 
head was  damp  with  perspiration,  and  I  became  more 
and  more  convinced  that  the  uncanny  ordeal  must 
prove  too  much  for  my  nerves.  Hitherto,  I  had  ac- 
corded little  credence  to  tales  of  the  supernatural, 
but  face  to  face  with  such  manifestations  as  these, 
I  realized  that  I  would  have  faced  rather  a  group  of 
armed  dacoits,  nay!  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  himself,  than 
have  remained  another  hour  in  that  ill-omened  house. 

My  companion  must  have  read  as  much  in  my 
face.  But  he  kept  up  the  strange,  and  to  me,  pur- 
poseless comedy,  when  presently  he  spoke. 

"  I  feel  it  to  be  incumbent  upon  me  to  suggest," 
he  said,  "  that  we  spend  the  night  at  a  hotel  after 
all." 

He  walked  rapidly  downstairs  and  into  the  library 
and  began  to  strap  up  the  grip. 

"  After  all,"  he  said,  "  there  may  be  a  natural 
explanation  of  what  we've  heard ;  for  it  is  noteworthy 
that  we  have  actually  seen  nothing.  It  might  even 
be  possible  to  get  used  to  the  ringing  and  the  wailing 
after  a  time.  Frankly,  I  am  loath  to  go  back  on  my 
bargain!  " 

Whilst  I  stared  at  him  in  amazement,  he  stood 
there  indeterminate  as  it  seemed.  Then: 

"  Come,  Pearce !  "  he  cried  loudly,  "  I  can  see  that 
you  do  not  share  my  views;  but  for  my  own  part  I 
shall  return  to-morrow  and  devote  further  attention 
to  the  phenomena." 

Extinguishing  the  light,  he  walked  out  into  the 


26o    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

hallway,  carrying  the  grip  in  his  hand.  I  was  not 
far  behind  him.  We  walked  toward  the  door  to- 
gether, and: 

"Turn  the  light  out,  Pearce,"  directed  Smith; 
"  the  switch  is  at  your  elbow.  We  can  see  our  way 
to  the  door  well  enough,  now." 

In  order  to  carry  out  these  instructions,  it  became 
necessary  for  me  to  remain  a  few  paces  in  the  rear 
of  my  companion,  and  I  think  I  have  never  experi- 
enced such  a  pang  of  nameless  terror  as  pierced  me 
at  the  moment  of  extinguishing  the  light;  for  Smith 
had  not  yet  opened  the  door,  and  the  utter  darkness 
of  the  Gables  was  horrible  beyond  expression. 
Surely  darkness  is  the  most  potent  weapon  of  the  Un- 
known. I  know  that  at  the  moment  my  hand  left 
the  switch,  I  made  for  the  door  as  though  the  hosts 
of  hell  pursued  me.  I  collided  violently  with  Smith. 
He  was  evidently  facing  toward  me  in  the  darkness, 
for  at  the  moment  of  our  collision,  he  grasped  my 
shoulder  as  in  a  vise. 

"  My  God,  Petrie!  look  behind  you!  "  he  whis- 
pered. 

I  was  enabled  to  judge  of  the  extent  and  reality 
of  his  fear  by  the  fact  that  the  strange  subterfuge  of 
addressing  me  always  as  Pearce  was  forgotten.  I 
turned,  in  a  flash.  .  .  . 

Never  can  I  forget  what  I  saw.  Many  strange 
and  terrible  memories  are  mine,  memories  stranger 
and  more  terrible  than  those  of  the  average  man;  but 
this  thing  which  now  moved  slowly  down  upon  us 


THE  FIERY  HAND  261 

through  the  impenetrable  gloom  of  that  haunted 
place,  was  (if  the  term  be  understood)  almost  ab- 
surdly horrible.  It  was  a  medieval  legend  come  to 
life  in  modern  London;  it  was  as  though  some  hor- 
rible chimera  of  the  black  and  ignorant  past  was 
become  create  and  potent  in  the  present. 

A  luminous  hand  —  a  hand  in  the  veins  of  which 
fire  seemed  to  run  so  that  the  texture  of  the  skin 
and  the  shape  of  the  bones  within  were  perceptible 
—  in  short  a  hand  of  glowing,  fiery  flesh  clutching  a 
short  knife  or  dagger  which  also  glowed  with  the 
same  hellish,  internal  luminance,  was  advancing  upon 
us  where  we  stood  —  was  not  three  paces  removed ! 

What  I  did  or  how  I  came  to  do  it,  I  can  never 
recall.  In  all  my  years  I  have  experienced  nothing 
to  equal  the  stark  panic  which  seized  upon  me  then. 
I  know  that  I  uttered  a  loud  and  frenzied  cry;  I  know 
that  I  tore  myself  like  a  madman  from  Smith's  re- 
straining grip  .  .  . 

"  Don't  touch  it !  Keep  away,  for  your  life !  " 
I  heard  .  .  . 

But,  dimly  I  recollect  that,  finding  the  thing  ap- 
proaching yet  nearer,  I  lashed  out  with  my  fists  — 
madly,  blindly  —  and  struck  something  palpa- 
ble ... 

What  was  the  result,  I  cannot  say,  At  that  point 
my  recollections  merge  into  confusion.  Something 
or  some  one  (Smith,  as  I  afterwards  discovered)  was 
hauling  me  by  main  force  through  the  darkness;  I 
fell  a  considerable  distance  onto  gravel  which  lacer- 


262     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

ated  my  hands  and  gashed  my  knees.  Then,  with 
the  cool  night  air  fanning  my  brow,  I  was  running  — 
running  —  my  breath  coming  in  hysterical  sobs. 
Beside  me  fled  another  figure.  .  .  .  And  my  defi- 
nite recollections  commence  again  at  that  point.  For 
this  companion  of  my  flight  from  the  Gables  threw 
himself  roughly  against  me  to  alter  my  course. 

"  Not  that  way!  not  that  way!  "  came  pantingly. 
"  Not  on  to  the  Heath  ...  we  must  keep  to  the 
roads  .  .  ." 

It  was  Nayland  Smith.  That  healing  realization 
came  to  me,  bringing  such  a  gladness  as  no  words  of 
mine  can  express  nor  convey.  Still  we  ran  on. 

"  There's  a  policeman's  lantern,"  panted  my  com- 
panion. "  They'll  attempt  nothing,  now  I  " 

I  gulped  down  the  stiff  brandy-and-soda,  then 
glanced  across  to  where  Nayland  Smith  lay  extended 
in  the  long,  cane  chair. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  explain,"  I  said,  "for  what 
purpose  you  submitted  me  to  that  ordeal.  If  you 
proposed  to  correct  my  skepticism  concerning  super- 
natural manifestations,  you  have  succeeded." 

"  Yes,"  said  my  companion,  musingly,  "  they  are 
devilishly  clever;  but  we  knew  that  already." 

I  stared  at  him,  fatuously. 

"  Have  you  ever  known  me  to  waste  my  time  when 
there  was  important  work  to  do?"  he  continued. 
"  Do  you  seriously  believe  that  my  ghost-hunting 
was  undertaken  for  amusement?  Really,  Petrie,  al- 


THE  FIERY  HAND  263 

though  you  are  very  fond  of  assuring  me  that  I  need 
a  holiday,  I  think  the  shoe  is  on  the  other  foot!  " 

From  the  pocket  of  his  dressing-gown,  he  took 
out  a  piece  of  silk  fringe  which  had  apparently  been 
torn  from  a  scarf,  and  rolling  it  into  a  ball,  tossed 
it  across  to  me. 

"  Smell!  "  he  snapped. 

I  did  as  he  directed  —  and  gave  a  great  start. 
The  silk  exhaled  a  faint  perfume,  but  its  effect  upon 
me  was  as  though  some  one  had  cried  aloud:  — 
"  Karamaneh!  " 

Beyond  doubt  the  silken  fragment  had  belonged 
to  the  beautiful  servant  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  to  the 
dark-eyed,  seductive  Karamaneh.  Nayland  Smith 
was  watching  me  keenly. 

"You  recognize  it  —  yes?" 

I  placed  the  piece  of  silk  upon  the  table,  slightly 
shrugging  my  shoulders. 

"  It  was  sufficient  evidence  in  itself,"  continued 
my  friend,  "  but  I  thought  it  better  to  seek  confirma- 
tion, and  the  obvious  way  was  to  pose  as  a  new  lessee 
of  the  Gables  .  .  ." 

"  But,  Smith,"  I  began  .  .  . 

"  Let  me  explain,  Petrie.  The  history  of  the 
Gables  seemed  to  be  susceptible  of  only  one  explana- 
tion; in  short  it  was  fairly  evident  to  me  that  the 
object  of  the  manifestations  was  to  insure  the  place 
being  kept  empty.  This  idea  suggested  another,  and 
with  them  both  in  mind,  I  set  out  to  make  my  inquir- 
ies, first  taking  the  precaution  to  disguise  my  identity, 


264    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

to  which  end  Weymouth  gave  me  the  freedom  of 
Scotland  Yard's  fancy  wardrobe.  I  did  not  take  the 
agent  into  my  confidence,  but  posed  as  a  stranger  who 
had  heard  that  the  house  was  to  let  furnished  and 
thought  it  might  suit  his  purpose.  My  inquiries  were 
directed  to  a  particular  end,  but  I  failed  to  achieve 
it  at  the  time.  I  had  theories,  as  I  have  said,  and 
when,  having  paid  the  deposit  and  secured  posses- 
sion of  the  keys,  I  was  enabled  to  visit  the  place 
alone,  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  evidence  to 
show  that  my  imagination  had  not  misled  me. 

"  You  were  very  curious  the  other  morning,  I  re- 
call, respecting  my  object  in  borrowing  a  large  brace 
and  bit.  My  object,  Petrie,  was  to  bore  a  series  of 
holes  in  the  wainscoating  of  various  rooms  at  the 
Gables  —  in  inconspicuous  positions,  of  course  .  .  ." 

"  But,  my  dear  Smith !  "  I  cried,  "  you  are  merely 
adding  to  -my  mystification." 

He  stood  up  and  began  to  pace  the  room  in  his 
restless  fashion. 

"  I  had  cross-examined  Weymouth  closely  regard- 
ing the  phenomenon  of  the  bell-ringing,  and  an  ex- 
haustive search  of  the  premises  led  to  the  discovery 
that  the  house  was  in  such  excellent  condition  that, 
from  ground-floor  to  attic,  there  was  not  a  solitary 
crevice  large  enough  to  admit  of  the  passage  of  a 


mouse." 


I  suppose  I  must  have  been  staring  very  foolishly 
indeed,  for  Nayland  Smith  burst  into  one  of  his 
sudden  laughs. 


THE  FIERY  HAND  265 

"  A  mouse,  I  said,  Petrie !  "  he  cried.  "  With 
the  brace-and-bit  I  rectified  that  matter.  I  made 
the  holes  I  have  mentioned,  and  before  each  set  a 
trap  baited  with  a  piece  of  succulent,  toasted  cheese. 
Just  open  that  grip !  " 

The  light  at  last  was  dawning  upon  my  mental 
darkness,  and  I  pounced  upon  the  grip,  which  stood 
upon  a  chair  near  the  window,  and  opened  it.  A 
sickly  smell  of  cooked  cheese  assailed  my  nostrils. 

"Mind  your  fingers!"  cried  Smith;  "some  of 
them  are  still  set,  possibly-" 

Out  from  the  grip  I  began  to  take  mouse-traps! 
Two  or  three  of  them  were  still  set^  but  in  the  case 
of  the  greater  number  the  catches  had  slipped.  Nine 
I  took  out  and  placed  upon  the  table,  and  ail  were 
empty.  In  the  tenth  there  crouched,  panting,  its  soft 
furry  body  dank  with  perspiration,  a  little  white 
mouse ! 

w  Only  one  capture ! "  cried  my  companion, 
"  showing  how  well-fed  the  creatures  were.  Exam- 
ine his  tail!  " 

But  already  I  had  perceived  that  to  which  Smith 
would  draw  my  attention,  and  the  mystery  of  the 
"  astral  bells  "  was  a  mystery  no  longer.  Bound  to 
the  little  creature's  tail,  close  to  the  root,  with  fine 
soft  wire  such  as  is  used  for  making  up  bouquets, 
were  three  tiny  silver  bells.  I  looked  across  at  my 
companion  in  speechless  surprise. 

"Almost  childish,  is  it  not?"  he  said;  "yet  by 
means  of  this  simple  device  the  Gables  has  been  emp- 


266    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

tied  of  occupant  after  occupant.  There  was  small 
chance  of  the  trick  being  detected,  for,  as  I  have  said, 
there  was  absolutely  no  aperture  from  roof  to  base- 
ment by  means  of  which  one  of  them  could  have 
escaped  into  the  building." 

"  Then  .  .  ." 

"  They  were  admitted  into  the  wall  cavities  and 
the  rafters,  from  some  cellar  underneath,  Petrie,  to 
which,  after  a  brief  scamper  under  the  floors  and 
over  the  ceilings,  they  instinctively  returned  for  the 
food  they  were  accustomed  to  receive,  and  for  which, 
even  had  it  been  possible  (which  it  was  not)  they 
had  no  occasion  to  forage." 

I,  too,  stood  up;  for  excitement  was  growing 
within  me.  I  took  up  the  piece  of  silk  from  the 
table. 

"Where  did  you  find  this?"  I  asked,  my  eyes 
upon  Smith's  keen  face. 

"  In  a  sort  of  wine  cellar,  Petrie,"  he  replied,  "  un- 
der the  stair.  There  is  no  cellar  proper  to  the 
Gables  —  at  least  no  such  cellar  appears  in  the 
plans." 

"  But  .  .  ." 

"  But  there  is  one  beyond  doubt  —  yes !  It  must 
be  part  of  some  older  building  which  occupied  the 
site  before  the  Gables  was  built.  One  can  only  sur- 
mise that  it  exists,  although  such  a  surmise  is  a  fairly 
safe  one,  and  the  entrance  to  the  subterranean  por- 
tion of  the  building  is  situated  beyond  doubt  in  the 
wine  cellar.  Of  this  we  have  at  least  two  evidences : 


THE  FIERY  HAND  267 

—  the  finding  of  the  fragment  of  silk  there,  and  the 
fact  that  in  one  case  at  least  —  as  I  learned  —  the 
light  was  extinguished  in  the  library  unaccountably. 
This  could  only  have  been  done  in  one  way:  by  ma- 
nipulating the  main  switch,  which  is  also  in  the  wine 
cellar." 

"  But  Smith!  "  I  cried,  "  do  you  mean  that  Fu- 
Manchu  .  .  ." 

Nayland  Smith  turned  in  his  promenade  of  the 
floor,  and  stared  into  my  eyes. 

"  I  mean  that  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  has  had  a  hiding- 
place  under  the  Gables  for  an  indefinite  period!  "  he 
replied.  "  I  always  suspected  that  a  man  of  his 
genius  would  have  a  second  retreat  prepared  for  him, 
anticipating  the  event  of  the  first  being  discovered. 
Oh!  I  don't  doubt  it!  The  place  probably  is  ex- 
tensive, and  I  am  almost  certain  —  though  the  point 
has  to  be  confirmed  —  that  there  is  another  entrance 
from  the  studio  further  along  the  road.  We  know, 
now,  why  our  recent  searchings  in  the  East  End  have 
proved  futile ;  why  the  house  in  Museum  Street  was 
deserted;  he  has  been  lying  low  in  this  burrow  at 
Hampstead!  " 

"  But  the  hand,  Smith,  the  luminous  hand  .  .  ." 

Nayland  Smith  laughed  shortly. 

"  Your  superstitious  fears  overcame  you  to  such 
an  extent,  Petrie  —  and  I  don't  wonder  at  it;  the 
sight  was  a  ghastly  one  —  that  probably  you  don't 
remember  what  occurred  when  you  struck  out  at  that 
same  ghostly  hand?  " 


268     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  I  seemed  to  hit  something." 

"  That  was  why  we  ran.  But  I  think  our  retreat 
had  all  the  appearance  of  a  rout,  as  I  intended  that 
it  should.  Pardon  my  playing  upon  your  very 
natural  fears,  old  man,  but  you  could  not  have  simu- 
lated panic  half  so  naturally!  And  if  they  had  sus- 
pected that  the  device  was  discovered,  we  might  never 
have  quitted  the  Gables  alive.  It  was  touch-and-go 
for  a  moment." 

"  But  .  .  ." 

4  Turn  out  the  light !  "  snapped  my  companion. 

Wondering  greatly,  I  did  as  he  desired.  I  turned 
out  the  light  .  .  .  and  in  the  darkness  of  my  own 
study  I  saw  a  fiery  fist  being  shaken  at  me  threaten- 
ingly! .  .  .  The  bones  were  distinctly  visible,  and 
the  luminosity  of  the  flesh  was  truly  ghastly. 

"  Turn  on  the  light,  again!  "  cried  Smith. 

Deeply  mystified,  I  did  so  ...  and  my  friend 
tossed  a  little  electric  pocket-lamp  on  to  the  writing- 
table. 

"  They  used  merely  a  small  electric  lamp  fitted  into 
the  handle  of  a  glass  dagger,"  he  said  with  a  sort  of 
contempt.  "  It  was  very  effective,  but  the  luminous 
hand  is  a  phenomenon  producible  by  any  one  who 
possesses  an  electric  torch." 

"  The  Gables  will  be  watched?  " 

"  At  last,  Petrie,  I  think  we  have  Fu-Manchu  —  in 
his  own  trap! " 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  RAID 


it  all,  Petrie!"  cried  Smith,  "this  is 
most  annoying  !" 

The  bell  was  ringing  furiously,  although  midnight 
was  long  past.  Whom  could  my  late  visitor  be? 
Almost  certainly  this  ringing  portended  an  urgent 
case.  In  other  words,  I  was  not  fated  to  take  part 
in  what  I  anticipated  would  prove  to  be  the  closing 
scene  of  the  Fu-Manchu  drama. 

"  Every  one  is  in  bed,"  I  said,  ruefully;  "  and  how 
can  I  possibly  see  a  patient  —  in  this  costume  ?  " 

Smith  and  I  were  both  arrayed  in  rough  tweeds, 
and  anticipating  the  labors  before  us,  had  dispensed 
with  collars  and  wore  soft  mufflers.  It  was  hard  to 
be  called  upon  to  face  a  professional  interview 
dressed  thus,  and  having  a  big  tweed  cap  pulled 
down  over  my  eyes. 

Across  the  writing-table  we  confronted  one  an- 
other in  dismayed  silence,  whilst,  below,  the  bell  sent 
up  its  ceaseless  clangor. 

"  It  has  to  be  done,  Smith,"  I  said,  regretfully. 
"  Almost  certainly  it  means  a  journey  and  probably 
an  absence  of  some  hours." 

I  threw  my  cap  upon  the  table,  turned  up  my  coat 
to  hide  the  absence  of  collar,  and  started  for  the 

269 


270    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

door.  My  last  sight  of  Smith  showed  him  standing 
looking  after  me,  tugging  at  the  lobe  of  his  ear  and 
clicking  his  teeth  together  with  suppressed  irritabil- 
ity. I  stumbled  down  the  dark  stairs,  along  the  hall, 
and  opened  the  front  door.  Vaguely  visible  in  the 
light  of  a  street  lamp  which  stood  at  no  great  dis- 
tance away,  I  saw  a  slender  man  of  medium  height 
confronting  me.  From  the  shadowed  face  two 
large  and  luminous  eyes  looked  out  into  mine.  My 
visitor,  who,  despite  the  warmth  of  the  evening,  wore 
a  heavy  greatcoat,  was  an  Oriental ! 

I  drew  back,  apprehensively;  then: 

"Ah!  Dr.  Petrie !  "  he  said  in  a  softly  musical 
voice  which  made  me  start  again,  "  to  God  be  all 
praise  that  I  have  found  you !  " 

Some  emotion,  which  at  present  I  could  not  define, 
was  stirring  within  me.  Where  had  I  seen  this 
graceful  Eastern  youth  before  ?  Where  had  I  heard 
that  soft  voice  ? 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  me  professionally?  "  I  asked 

—  yet  even  as  I  put  the  question,  I  seemed  to  know 
it  unnecessary. 

"  So  you  know  me  no  more?  "  said  the  stranger 

—  and  his  teeth  gleamed  in  a  slight  smile. 
Heavens!     I   knew  now   what  had   struck   that 

vibrant  chord  within  me!  The  voice,  though  in- 
finitely deeper,  yet  had  an  unmistakable  resemblance 
to  the  dulcet  tones  of  Karamaneh  —  of  Karamaneh, 
whose  eyes  haunted  my  dreams,  whose  beauty  had 
done  much  to  embitter  my  years. 


THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  RAID        271 

The  Oriental  youth  stepped  forward,  with  out- 
stretched hand. 

"  So  you  know  me  no  more?  "  he  repeated;  "  but 
I  know  you,  and  give  praise  to  Allah  that  I  have 
found  you !  " 

I  stepped  back,  pressed  the  electric  switch,  and 
turned,  with  leaping  heart,  to  look  into  the  face  of 
my  visitor.  It  was  a  face  of  the  purest  Greek 
beauty,  a  face  that  might  have  served  as  a  model  for 
Praxiteles;  the  skin  had  a  golden  pallor,  which,  with 
the  crisp  black  hair  and  magnetic  yet  velvety  eyes, 
suggested  to  my  fancy  that  this  was  the  young 
Antinous  risen  from  the  Nile,  whose  wraith  now 
appeared  to  me  out  of  the  night.  I  stifled  a  cry  of 
surprise,  not  unmingled  with  gladness. 

It  was  Aziz  —  the  brother  of  Karamaneh ! 

Never  could  the  entrance  of  a  figure  upon  the  stage 
of  a  drama  have  been  more  dramatic  than  the  com- 
ing of  Aziz  upon  this  night  of  all  nights.  I  seized 
the  outstretched  hand  and  drew  him  forward,  then 
reclosed  the  door  and  stood  before  him  a  moment 
in  doubt. 

A  vaguely  troubled  look  momentarily  crossed  the 
handsome  face ;  with  the  Oriental's  unerring  instinct, 
he  had  detected  the  reserve  of  my  greeting.  Yet, 
when  I  thought  of  the  treachery  of  Karamaneh,  when 
I  remember  how  she,  whom  we  had  befriended, 
whom  we  had  rescued  from  the  house  of  Fu-Manchu, 
now  had  turned  like  the  beautiful  viper  that  she  was 
to  strike  at  the  hand  that  caressed  her;  when  I 


272     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

thought  how  to-night  we  were  set  upon  raiding  the 
place  where  the  evil  Chinese  doctor  lurked  in  hid- 
ing, were  set  upon  the  arrest  of  that  malignant  genius 
and  of  all  his  creatures,  Karamaneh  amongst  them,  is 
it  strange  that  I  hesitated?  Yet,  again,  when  I 
thought  of  my  last  meeting  with  her,  and  of  how, 
twice,  she  had  risked  her  life  to  save  me  .  .  . 

So,  avoiding  the  gaze  of  the  lad,  I  took  his  arm, 
and  in  silence  we  two  ascended  the  stairs  and  entered 
my  study  .  .  .  where  Nayland  Smith  stood  bolt  up- 
right beside  the  table,  his  steely  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
face  of  the  new  arrival. 

No  look  of  recognition  crossed  the  bronzed  fea- 
tures, and  Aziz,  who  had  started  forward  with  out- 
stretched hands,  fell  back  a  step  and  looked  pathetic- 
ally from  me  to  Nayland  Smith,  and  from  the  grim 
commissioner  back  again  to  me.  The  appeal  in  the 
velvet  eyes  was  more  than  I  could  tolerate,  unmoved. 

"  Smith,"  I  said  shortly,  "  you  remember  Aziz?  " 

Not  a  muscle  visibly  moved  in  Smith's  face,  as 
he  snapped  back: 

"  I  remember  him  perfectly." 

"  He  has  come,  I  think,  to  seek  our  assistance." 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  cried  Aziz,  laying  his  hand  upon  my 
arm  with  a  gesture  painfully  reminiscent  of  Kara- 
maneh — "  I  came  only  to-night  to  London.  Oh,  my 
gentlemen!  I  have  searched,  and  searched,  and 
searched,  until  I  am  weary.  Often  I  have  wished  to 
die.  And  then  at  last  I  come  to  Rangoon  .  .  ." 


THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  RAID        273 

"To  Rangoon!"  snapped  Smith,  still  with  the 
gray  eyes  fixed  almost  fiercely  upon  the  lad's  face. 

"To  Rangoon  —  yes;  and  there  I  heard  news  at 
last.  I  hear  that  you  have  seen  her  —  have  seen 
Karamaneh  —  that  you  are  back  in  London."  He 
was  not  entirely  at  home  with  his  English.  "  I  know 
then  that  she  must  be  here,  too.  I  ask  them  every- 
where, and  they  answer  '  yes.'  Oh,  Smith  Pasha !  " 
—  he  stepped  forward  and  impulsively  seized  both 
Smith's  hands  — "  You  know  where  she  is  —  take  me 
to  her!" 

Smith's  face  was  a  study  in  perplexity,  now.  In 
the  past  we  had  befriended  the  young  Aziz,  and  it 
was  hard  to  look  upon  him  in  the  light  of  an  enemy. 
Yet  had  we  not  equally  befriended  his  sister?  — 
and  she  .  .  . 

At  last  Smith  glanced  across  at  me  where  I  stood 
just  within  the  doorway. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it,  Petrie  ? "  he  said 
harshly.  "  Personally  I  take  it  to  mean  that  our 
plans  have  leaked  out."  He  sprang  suddenly  back 
from  Aziz,  and  I  saw  his  glance  traveling  rapidly 
over  the  slight  figure  as  if  in  quest  of  concealed  arms. 
"  I  take  it  to  be  a  trap !  " 

A  moment  he  stood  so,  regarding  him,  and  despite 
my  well-grounded  distrust  of  the  Oriental  character, 
I  could  have  sworn  that  the  expression  of  pained 
surprise  upon  the  youth's  face  was  not  simulated  but 
real.  Even  Smith,  I  think,  began  to  share  my  view; 


274    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

for  suddenly  he  threw  himself  into  the  white  cane 
rest-chair,  and,  still  fixedly  regarding  Aziz : 

"  Perhaps  I  have  wronged  you,"  he  said.  "  If  I 
havo,  you  shall  know  the  reason  presently.  Tell 
your  own  story!  " 

There  was  a  pathetic  humidity  in  the  velvet  eyes  of 
Aziz  —  eyes  so  like  those  others  that  were  ever  look- 
ing into  mine  in  dreams  —  as  glancing  from  Smith 
to  me  he  began,  hands  outstretched,  characteristic- 
ally, palms  upward  and  fingers  curling,  to  tell  in 
broken  English  the  story  of  his  search  for  Kara- 
maneh .  .  ." 

"  It  was  Fu-Manchu,  my  kind  gentlemen  —  it  was 
the  hakim  who  is  really  not  a  man  at  all,  but  an 
efreet.  He  found  us  again  less  than  four  days  after 
you  had  left  us,  Smith  Pasha !  .  .  .  He  found  us  in 
Cairo,  and  to  Karamaneh  he  made  the  forgetting  of 
all  things  —  even  of  me  —  even  of  me  .  .  ." 

Nayland  Smith  snapped  his  teeth  together  sharply; 
then: 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  he  demanded. 

For  my  own  part  I  understood  well  enough,  re- 
membering how  the  brilliant  Chinese  doctor  once  had 
performed  such  an  operation  as  this  upon  poor  In- 
spector Weymouth;  how,  by  means  of  an  injection 
of  some  serum  prepared  (as  Karamaneh  afterwards 
told  us)  from  the  venom  of  a  swamp  adder  or  similar 
reptile,  he  had  induced  amnesia,  or  complete  loss  of 
memory.  I  felt  every  drop  of  blood  recede  from  my 
cheeks. 


THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  RAID        275 

"Smith!  "I  began  .  .  . 

"  Let  him  speak  for  himself,"  interrupted  my 
friend  sharply. 

"  They  tried  to  take  us  both,"  continued  Aziz,  still 
speaking  in  that  soft,  melodious  manner,  but  with 
deep  seriousness.  "  I  escaped,  I,  who  am  swift  of 
foot,  hoping  to  bring  help." —  He  shook  his  head 
sadly  — "  But,  except  the  All  Powerful,  who  is  so 
powerful  as  the  Hakim  Fu-Manchu?  I  hid,  my  gen- 
tlemen, and  watched  and  waited,  one  —  two  —  three 
weeks.  At  last  I  saw  her  again,  my  sister,  Kara- 
maneh ;  but  ah !  she  did  not  know  me,  did  not  know 
me,  Aziz,  her  brother!  She  was  in  an  arabeeyeh, 
and  passed  me  quickly  along  the  Sharia  en-Nahhasin. 
I  ran,  and  ran,  and  ran,  crying  her  name,  but  al- 
though she  looked  back,  she  did  not  know  me  —  she 
did  not  know  me !  I  felt  that  I  was  dying,  and 
presently  I  fell  —  upon  the  steps  of  the  Mosque  of 
Abu." 

He  dropped  the  expressive  hands  wearily  to  his 
sides  and  sank  his  chin  upon  his  breast. 

"  And  then?  "  I  said,  huskily —  for  my  heart  was 
fluttering  like  a  captive  bird. 

"  Alas !  from  that  day  to  this  I  see  her  no  more, 
my  gentlemen.  I  travel,  not  only  in  Egypt,  but  near 
and  far,  and  still  I  see  her  no  more  until  in  Rangoon 
I  hear  that  which  brings  me  to  England  again  " — 
he  extended  his  palms  naively  — "  and  here  I  am  — 
Smith  Pasha." 

Smith  sprang  upright  again  and  turned  to  me. 


276    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  Either  I  am  growing  over-credulous,"  he  said, 
"  or  Aziz  speaks  the  truth.  But  " — he  held  up  his 
hand  — "  you  can  tell  me  all  that  at  some  other  time, 
Petrie !  We  must  take  no  chances.  Sergeant 
Carter  is  downstairs  with  the  cab;  you  might  ask 
him  to  step  up.  He  and  Aziz  can  remain  here  un- 
til our  return." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
THE  SAMURAI'S  SWORD 

THE  muffled  drumming  of  sleepless  London 
seemed  very  remote  from  us,  as  side  by  side 
we  crept  up  the  narrow  path  to  the  studio.  This  was 
a  starry  but  moonless  night,  and  the  little  dingy  white 
building  with  a  solitary  tree  peeping,  in  silhouette, 
above  the  glazed  roof,  bore  an  odd  resemblance  to 
one  of  those  tombs  which  form  a  city  of  the  dead  so 
near  to  the  city  of  feverish  life  on  the  slopes  of  the 
Mokattam  Hills.  This  line  of  reflection  proved  un- 
pleasant, and  I  dismissed  it  sternly  from  my  mind. 

The  shriek  of  a  train-whistle  reached  me,  a  sound 
which  breaks  the  stillness  of  the  most  silent  London 
night,  telling  of  the  ceaseless,  febrile  life  of  the  great 
world-capital  whose  activity  ceases  not  with  the  com- 
ing of  darkness.  Around  and  about  us  a  very  great 
stillness  reigned,  however,  and  the  velvet  dusk  — 
which,  with  the  star-jeweled  sky,  was  strongly  sug- 
gestive of  an  Eastern  night  —  gave  up  no  sign  to 
show  that  it  masked  the  presence  of  more  than  twenty 
men.  Some  distance  away  on  our  right  was  the 
Gables,  that  sinister  and  deserted  mansion  which  we 
assumed,  and  with  good  reason,  to  be  nothing  less 

277 


278     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

than  the  gateway  to  the  subterranean  abode  of  Dr. 
Fu-Manchu ;  before  us  was  the  studio,  which,  if  Nay- 
land  Smith's  deductions  were  accurate,  concealed  a 
second  entrance  to  the  same  mysterious  dwelling. 

As  my  friend,  glancing  cautiously  all  about  him, 
inserted  the  key  in  the  lock,  an  owl  hooted  dismally 
almost  immediately  above  our  heads.  I  caught  my 
breath  sharply,  for  it  might  be  a  signal;  but,  looking 
upward,  I  saw  a  great  black  shape  float  slantingly 
from  the  tree  beyond  the  studio  into  the  coppice  on 
the  right  which  hemmed  in  the  Gables.  Silently  the 
owl  winged  its  uncanny  flight  into  the  greater  dark- 
ness of  the  trees,  and  was  gone.  Smith  opened  the 
door  and  we  stepped  into  the  studio.  Our  plans  had 
been  well  considered,  and  in  accordance  with  these, 
I  now  moved  up  beside  my  friend,  who  was  dimly 
perceptible  to  me  in  the  starlight  which  found  access 
through  the  glass  roof,  and  pressed  the  catch  of  my 
electric  pocket-lamp  .  .  . 

I  suppose  that  by  virtue  of  my  self-imposed  duty 
as  chronicler  of  the  deeds  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  —  the 
greatest  and  most  evil  genius  whom  the  later  cen- 
turies have  produced,  the  man  who  dreamt  of  an  uni- 
versal Yellow  Empire  —  I  should  have  acquired  a 
certain  facility  in  describing  bizarre  happenings. 
But  I  confess  that  it  fails  me  now  as  I  attempt  in 
cold  English  to  portray  my  emotions  when  the  white 
beam  from  the  little  lamp  cut  through  the  darkness 
of  the  studio,  and  shone  fully  upon  the  beautiful  face 
of  Kdramaneh! 


THE  SAMURAI'S  SWORD  279 

Less  than  six  feet  away  from  me  she  stood,  ar- 
rayed in  the  gauzy  dress  of  the  harem,  her  fingers 
and  slim  white  arms  laden  with  barbaric  jewelry! 
The  light  wavered  in  my  suddenly  nerveless  hand, 
gleaming  momentarily  upon  bare  ankles  and  golden 
anklets,  upon  little  red  leather  shoes. 

I  spoke  no  word,  and  Smith  was  as  silent  as  I; 
both  of  us,  I  think,  were  speechless  rather  from 
amazement  than  in  obedience  to  the  evident  wishes 
of  Fu-Manchu's  slave-girl.  Yet  I  have  only  to  close 
my  eyes  at  this  moment  to  see  her  as  she  stood,  one 
finger  raised  to  her  lips,  enjoining  us  to  silence.  She 
looked  ghastly  pale  in  the  light  of  the  lamp,  but  so 
lovely  that  my  rebellious  heart  threatened  already 
to  make  a  fool  of  me. 

So  we  stood  in  that  untidy  studio,  with  canvases 
and  easels  heaped  against  the  wall  and  with  all  sorts 
of  litter  about  us,  a  trio  strangely  met,  and  one  to 
have  amused  the  high  gods  watching  through  the 
windows  of  the  stars. 

"  Go  back!  "  came  in  a  whisper  from  Karamaneh. 

I  saw  the  red  lips  moving  and  read  a  dreadful 
horror  in  the  widely  opened  eyes,  in  those  eyes  like 
pools  of  mystery  to  taunt  the  thirsty  soul.  The 
world  of  realities  was  slipping  past  me;  I  seemed  to 
be  losing  my  hold  on  things  actual;  I  had  built  up  an 
Eastern  palace  about  myself  and  Karamaneh, 
wherein,  the  world  shut  out,  I  might  pass  the  hours  in 
reading  the  mystery  of  those  dark  eyes.  Nayland 
Smith  brought  me  sharply  to  my  senses. 


280    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  Steady  with  the  light,  Petrie !  "  he  hissed  in  my 
ear.  "  My  skepticism  has  been  shaken,  to-night,  but 
I  am  taking  no  chances." 

He  moved  from  my  side  and  forward  toward  that 
lovely,  unreal  figure  which  stood  immediately  before 
the  model's  throne  and  its  background  of  plush  cur- 
tains. Karamaneh.  started  forward  to  meet  him, 
suppressing  a  little  cry,  whose  real  anguish  could  not 
have  been  simulated. 

"  Go  back!  go  back!"  she  whispered  urgently, 
and  thrust  out  her  hands  against  Smith's  breast. 
"  For  God's  sake,  go  back !  I  have  risked  my  life 
to  come  here  to-night.  He  knows,  and  is 
ready!"  .  .  . 

The  words  were  spoken  with  passionate  inten- 
sity, and  Nayland  Smith  hesitated.  To  my  nostrils 
was  wafted  that  faint,  delightful  perfume  which, 
since  one  night,  two  years  ago,  it  had  come  to  dis- 
turb my  senses,  had  taunted  me  many  times  as  the 
mirage  taunts  the  parched  Sahara  traveler.  I  took 
a  step  forward. 

"  Don't  move !  "  snapped  Smith. 

Karamaneh  clutched  frenziedly  at  the  lapels  of 
his  coat. 

"  Listen  to  me !  "  she  said,  beseechingly,  and 
stamped  one  little  foot  upon  the  floor — "listen  to 
me !  You  are  a  clever  man,  but  you  know  nothing 
of  a  woman's  heart  —  nothing  —  nothing  —  if  see- 
ing me,  hearing  me,  knowing,  as  you  do  know,  wh*t 
I  risk,  you  can  doubt  that  I  speak  the  truth.  And  I 


THE  SAMURAI'S  SWORD  281 

tell  you  that  it  is  death  to  go  behind  those  curtains 
—  that  he  .  .  ." 

"  That's  what  I  wanted  to  know !  "  snapped  Smith. 
His  voice  quivered  with  excitement. 

Suddenly  grasping  Karamaneh  by  the  waist,  he 
lifted  her  and  set  her  aside;  then  in  three  bounds  he 
was  on  to  the  model's  throne  and  had  torn  the 
plush  curtains  bodily  from  their  fastenings. 

How  it  occurred  I  cannot  hope  to  make  clear, 
for  here  my  recollections  merge  into  a  chaos.  I 
know  that  Smith  seemed  to  topple  forward  amid  the 
purple  billows  of  velvet,  and  his  muffled  cry  came  to 
me: 

"Petrie!     My  God,  Petrie!"  .  .  . 

The  pale  face  of  Karamaneh  looked  up  into  mine 
and  her  hands  were  clutching  me,  but  the  glamour  of 
her  personality  had  lost  its  hold,  for  I  knew  — 
heavens,  how  poignantly  it  struck  home  to  me  1  — 
that  Nayland  Smith  was  gone  to  his  death.  What  I 
hoped  to  achieve,  I  know  not,  but  hurling  the  trem- 
bling girl  aside,  I  snatched  the  Browning  pistol  from 
my  coat  pocket,  and  with  the  ray  of  the  lamp  di- 
rected upon  the  purple  mound  of  velvet,  I  leaped 
forward. 

I  think  I  realized  that  the  curtains  had  masked  a 
collapsible  trap,  a  sheer  pit  of  blackness,  an  instant 
before  I  was  precipitated  into  it,  but  certainly  the 
knowlege  came  too  late.  With  the  sound  of  a  soft, 
shuddering  cry  in  my  ears,  I  fell,  dropping  lamp  and 
pistol,  and  clutching  at  the  fallen  hangings.  But 


282    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

they  offered  me  no  support.  My  head  seemed  to  be 
bursting;  I  could  utter  only  a  hoarse  groan,  as  I  fell 
—  fell  — fell  .  .  . 

When  my  mind  began  to  work  again,  in  returning 
consciousness,  I  found  it  to  be  laden  with  reproach. 
How  often  in  the  past  had  we  blindly  hurled  our- 
selves into  just  such  a  trap  as  this?  Should  we 
never  learn  that  where  Fu-Manchu  was,  impetuosity 
must  prove  fatal?  On  two  distinct  occasions  in  the 
past  we  had  been  made  the  victims  of  this  device, 
yet  even  although  we  had  had  practically  conclusive 
evidence  that  this  studio  was  used  by  Dr.  Fu-Man- 
chu, we  had  relied  upon  its  floor  being  as  secure  as 
that  of  any  other  studio,  we  had  failed  to  sound 
every  foot  of  it  ere  trusting  our  weight  to  its  sup- 
port. .  .  . 

"  There  is  such  a  divine  simplicity  in  the  English 
mind  that  one  may  lay  one's  plans  with  mathematical 
precision,  and  rely  upon  the  Nayland  Smiths  and 
Dr.  Petries  to  play  their  allotted  parts.  Excepting 
two  faithful  followers,  my  friends  are  long  since  de- 
parted. But  here,  in  these  vaults  which  time  has 
overlooked  and  which  are  as  secret  and  as  service- 
able to-day  as  they  were  two  hundred  years  ago,  I 
wait  patiently,  with  my  trap  set,  like  the  spider  for 
the  fly!  .  .  ." 

To  the  sound  of  that  taunting  voice,  I  opened  my 
eyes.  As  I  did  so  I  strove  to  spring  upright  —  only 
to  realize  that  I  was  tied  fast  to  a  heavy  ebony  chair 


THE  SAMURAI'S  SWORD  283 

inlaid  with  ivory,  and  attached  by  means  of  two  iron 
brackets  to  the  floor. 

"  Even  children  learn  from  experience,"  continued 
the  unforgettable  voice,  alternately  guttural  and 
sibilant,  but  always  as  deliberate  as  though  the 
speaker  were  choosing  with  care  words  which  should 
perfectly  clothe  his  thoughts.  "  For  *  a  burnt  child 
fears  the  fire,'  says  your  English  adage.  But  Mr. 
Commissioner  Nayland  Smith,  who  enjoys  the  con- 
fidence of  the  India  Office,  and  who  is  empowered  to 
control  the  movements  of  the  Criminal  Investiga- 
tion Department,  learns  nothing  from  experience. 
He  is  less  than  a  child,  since  he  has  twice  rashly  pre- 
cipitated himself  into  a  chamber  charged  with  an 
anesthetic  prepared,  by  a  process  of  my  own,  from 
the  lycoperdon  or  Common  Puff-ball." 

I  became  fully  master  of  my  senses,  and  I  became 
fully  alive  to  a  stupendous  fact.  At  last  it  was 
ended ;  we  were  utterly  in  the  power  of  Dr.  Fu-Man- 
chu;  our  race  was  run. 

I  sat  in  a  low  vaulted  room.  The  roof  was  of 
ancient  brickwork,  but  the  walls  were  draped  with 
exquisite  Chinese  fabric  having  a  green  ground 
whereon  was  a  design  representing  a  grotesque  pro- 
cession of  white  peacocks.  A  green  carpet  cov- 
ered the  floor,  and  the  whole  of  the  furniture  was  of 
the  same  material  as  the  chair  to  which  I  was 
strapped,  viz :  —  ebony  inlaid  with  ivory.  This 
furniture  was  scanty.  There  was  a  heavy  table  in 
one  corner  of  the  dungeonesque  place,  on  which 


284    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

were  a  number  of  books  and  papers.  Before  this 
table  was  a  high-backed,  heavily  carven  chair.  A 
smaller  table  stood  upon  the  right  of  the  only  visi- 
ble opening,  a  low  door  partially  draped  with  bead- 
work  curtains,  above  which  hung  a  silver  lamp.  On 
this  smaller  table,  a  stick  of  incense,  in  a  silver 
holder,  sent  up  a  pencil  of  vapor  into  the  air,  and 
the  chamber  was  loaded  with  the  sickly  sweet  fumes. 
A  faint  haze  from  the  incense-stick  hovered  up  un- 
der the  roof. 

In  the  high-backed  chair  sat  Dr.  Fu-Manchu, 
wearing  a  green  robe  upon  which  was  embroidered  a 
design,  the  subject  of  which  at  first  glance  was  not 
perceptible,  but  which  presently  I  made  out  to  be  a 
huge  white  peacock.  He  wore  a  little  cap  perched 
upon  the  dome  of  his  amazing  skull,  and  with  one 
clawish  hand  resting  upon  the  ebony  of  the  table, 
he  sat  slightly  turned  toward  me,  his  emotionless 
face  a  mask  of  incredible  evil.  In  spite  of,  or  be- 
cause of,  the  high  intellect  written  upon  it,  the  face 
of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  was  more  utterly  repellent  than 
any  I  have  ever  known,  and  the  green  eyes,  eyes 
green  as  those  of  a  cat  in  the  darkness,  which  some- 
times burned  like  witch  lamps,  and  sometimes  were 
horribly  filmed  like  nothing  human  or  imaginable, 
might  have  mirrored  not  a  soul,  but  an  emanation 
of  hell,  incarnate  in  this  gaunt,  high-shouldered 
body. 

Stretched  flat  upon  the  floor  lay  Nayland  Smith, 
partially  stripped,  his  arms  thrown  back  over  his 


THE  SAMURAI'S  SWORD  285 

head  and  his  wrists  chained  to  a  stout  iron  staple 
attached  to  the  wall;  he  was  fully  conscious  and 
staring  intently  at  the  Chinese  doctor.  His  bare 
ankles  also  were  manacled,  and  fixed  to  a  second 
chain,  which  quivered  tautly  across  the  green  carpet 
and  passed  out  through  the  doorway,  being  attached 
to  something  beyond  the  curtain,  and  invisible  to  me 
from  where  I  sat. 

Fu-Manchu  was  now  silent.  I  could  hear  Smith's 
heavy  breathing  and  hear  my  watch  ticking  in  my 
pocket.  I  suddenly  realized  that  although  my  body 
was  lashed  to  the  ebony  chair,  my  hands  and  arms 
were  free.  Next,  looking  dazedly  about  me,  my 
attention  was  drawn  to  a  heavy  sword  which  stood 
hilt  upward  against  the  wall  within  reach  of  my 
hand.  It  was  a  magnificent  piece,  of  Japanese 
workmanship;  a  long,  curved  Damascened  blade 
having  a  double-handed  hilt  of  steel,  inlaid  with 
gold,  and  resembling  fine  Kuft  work.  A  host  of 
possibilities  swept  through  my  mind.  Then  I  per- 
ceived that  the  sword  was  attached  to  the  wall  by  a 
thin  steel  chain  some  five  feet  in  length. 

"  Even  if  you  had  the  dexterity  of  a  Mexican 
knife-thrower,"  came  the  guttural  voice  of  Fu-Man- 
chu, "  you  would  be  unable  to  reach  me,  dear  Dr. 
Petrie." 

The  Chinaman  had  read  my  thoughts. 

Smith  turned  his  eyes  upon  me  momentarily,  only 
to  look  away  again  in  the  direction  of  Fu-Manchu. 
My  friend's  face  was  slightly  pale  beneath  the  tan, 


286    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

and  his  jaw  muscles  stood  out  with  unusual  promi- 
nence. By  this  fact  alone  did  he  reveal  his  knowl- 
edge that  he  lay  at  the  mercy  of  this  enemy  of  the 
white  race,  of  this  inhuman  being  who  himself  knew 
no  mercy,  of  this  man  whose  very  genius  was  in- 
spired by  the  cool,  calculated  cruelty  of  his  race,  of 
that  race  which  to  this  day  disposes  of  hundreds, 
nay !  thousands,  of  its  unwanted  girl-children  by  the 
simple  measure  of  throwing  them  down  a  well  spe- 
cially dedicated  to  the  purpose. 

"  The  weapon  near  your  hand,"  continued  the 
Chinaman,  imperturbably,  "  is  a  product  of  the 
civilization  of  our  near  neighbors,  the  Japanese,  a 
race  to  whose  courage  I  prostrate  myself  in  meek- 
ness. It  is  the  sword  of  a  samurai,  Dr.  Petrie.  It 
is  of  very  great  age,  and  was,  until  an  unfortunate 
misunderstanding  with  myself  led  to  the  extinction 
of  the  family,  a  treasured  possession  of  a  noble 
Japanese  house  .  .  ." 

The  soft  voice,  into  which  an  occasional  sibilance 
crept,  but  which  never  rose  above  a  cool  monotone, 
gradually  was  lashing  me  into  fury,  and  I  could  see 
the  muscles  moving  in  Smith's  jaws  as  he  convul- 
sively clenched  his  teeth;  whereby  I  knew  that,  im- 
potent, he  burned  with  a  rage  at  least  as  great  as 
mine.  But  I  did  not  speak,  and  did  not  move. 

"  The  ancient  tradition  of  seppuku,"  continued 
the  Chinaman,  "  or  hara-kiri,  still  rules,  as  you  know, 
in  the  great  families  of  Japan.  There  is  a  sacred 
ritual,  and  the  samurai  who  dedicates  himself  to  this 


THE  SAMURAI'S  SWORD  287 

honorable  end,  must  follow  strictly  the  ritual.  As  a 
physician,  the  exact  nature  of  the  ceremony  might 
possibly  interest  you,  Dr.  Petrie,  but  a  technical  ac- 
count of  the  two  incisions  which  the  sacrificant  em- 
ploys in  his  self-dismissal,  might,  on  the  other  hand, 
bore  Mr.  Nayland  Smith.  Therefore  I  will  merely 
enlighten  you  upon  one  little  point,  a  minor  one,  but 
interesting  to  the  student  of  human  nature.  In 
short,  even  a  samurai  —  and  no  braver  race  has 
ever  honored  the  world  —  sometimes  hesitates  to 
complete  the  operation.  The  weapon  near  to  your 
hand,  my  dear  Dr.  Petrie,  is  known  as  the  Friend's 
Sword.  On  such  occasions  as  we  are  discussing,  a 
trusty  friend  is  given  the  post  —  an  honored  one  — 
of  standing  behind  the  brave  man  who  offers  himself 
to  his  gods,  and  should  the  latter's  courage  mo- 
mentarily fail  him,  the  friend  with  the  trusty  blade 
(to  which  now  I  especially  direct  your  attention) 
diverts  the  hierophant's  mind  from  his  digression, 
and  rectifies  his  temporary  breach  of  etiquette  by 
severing  the  cervical  vertebrae  of  the  spinal  column 
with  the  friendly  blade  —  which  you  can  reach  quite 
easily,  Dr.  Petrie,  if  you  care  to  extend  your  hand." 
Some  dim  perceptions  of  the  truth  was  beginning 
to  creep  into  my  mind.  When  I  say  a  perception  of 
the  truth,  I  mean  rather  of  some  part  of  the  pur- 
pose of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu;  of  the  whole  horrible  truth, 
of  the  scheme  which  had  been  conceived  by  that 
mighty,  evil  man,  I  had  no  glimmering,  but  I  fore- 
saw that  a  frightful  ordeal  was  before  us  both. 


288     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  That  I  hold  you  in  high  esteem,"  continued  Fu- 
Manchu,  "  is  a  fact  which  must  be  apparent  to  you 
by  this  time,  but  in  regard  to  your  companion,  I  en- 
tertain very  different  sentiments.  .  .  ." 

Always  underlying  the  deliberate  calm  of  the 
speaker,  sometimes  showing  itself  in  an  unusually 
deep  guttural,  sometimes  in  an  unusually  serpentine 
sibilance,  lurked  the  frenzy  of  hatred  which  in  the 
past  had  revealed  itself  occasionally  in  wild  out- 
bursts. Momentarily  I  expected  such  an  outburst 
now,  but  it  did  not  come. 

"  One  quality  possessed  by  Mr.  Nayland  Smith," 
resumed  the  Chinaman,  "I  admire;  I  refer  to  his 
courage.  I  would  wish  that  so  courageous  a  man 
should  seek  his  own  end,  should  voluntarily  efface 
himself  from  the  path  of  that  world-movement 
which  he  is  powerless  to  check.  In  short,  I  would 
have  him  show  himself  a  samurai.  Always  his 
friend,  you  shall  remain  so  to  the  end,  Dr.  Petrie. 
I  have  arranged  for  this." 

He  struck  lightly  a  little  silver  gong,  dependent 
from  the  corner  of  the  table,  whereupon,  from  the 
curtained  doorway,  there  entered  a  short,  thickly 
built  Burman  whom  I  recognized  for  a  dacoit.  He 
wore  a  shoddy  blue  suit,  which  had  been  made  for  a 
much  larger  man;  but  these  things  claimed  little  of 
my  attention,  which  automatically  was  directed  to 
the  load  beneath  which  the  Burman  labored. 

Upon  his  back  he  carried  a  sort  of  wire  box  rather 
less  than  six  feet  long,  some  two  feet  high,  and 


THE  SAMURAI'S  SWORD  289 

about  two  feet  wide.  In  short,  it  was  a  stout  frame- 
work covered  with  fine  wire-netting  on  the  top, 
sides  and  ends,  but  being  open  at  the  bottom.  It 
seemed  to  be  made  in  five  sections  or  to  contain  four 
sliding  partitions  which  could  be  raised  or  lowered 
at  will.  These  were  of  wood,  and  in  the  bottom 
of  each  was  cut  a  little  arch.  The  arches  in  the 
four  partitions  varied  in  size,  so  that  whereas  the 
first  was  not  more  than  five  inches  high,  the  fourth 
opened  almost  to  the  wire  roof  of  the  box  or  cage; 
and  a  fifth,  which  was  but  little  higher  than  the  first, 
was  cut  in  the  actual  end  of  the  contrivance. 

So  intent  was  I  upon  this  device,  the  purpose  of 
which  I  was  wholly  unable  to  divine,  that  I  directed 
the  whole  of  my  attention  upon  it.  Then,  as  the 
Burman  paused  in  the  doorway,  resting  a  corner 
of  the  cage  upon  the  brilliant  carpet,  I  glanced 
toward  Fu-Manchu.  He  was  watching  Nayland 
Smith,  and  revealing  his  irregular  yellow  teeth  — 
the  teeth  of  an  opium  smoker  —  in  the  awful  mirth- 
less smile  which  I  knew. 

"God!"  whispered  Smith— "the  Six  Gates!" 

"  The  knowledge  of  my  beautiful  country  serves 
you  well,"  replied  Fu-Manchu  gently. 

Instantly  I  looked  to  my  friend  .  .  .  and  every 
drop  of  blood  seemed  to  recede  from  my  heart,  leav- 
ing it  cold  in  my  breast.  If  /  did  not  know  the 
purpose  of  the  cage,  obviously  Smith  knew  it  all  too 
well.  His  pallor  had  grown  more  marked,  and  al- 
though his  gray  eyes  stared  defiantly  at  the  China- 


290    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

man,  I,  who  knew  him,  could  read  a  deathly  horror 
in  their  depths. 

The  dacoit,  in  obedience  to  a  guttural  order  from 
Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  placed  the  cage  upon  the  carpet, 
completely  covering  Smith's  body,  but  leaving  his 
neck  and  head  exposed.  The  seared  and  pock- 
marked face  set  in  a  sort  of  placid  leer,  the  dacoit 
adjusted  the  sliding  partitions  to  Smith's  recumbent 
form,  and  I  saw  the  purpose  of  the  graduated  arches. 
They  were  intended  to  divide  a  human  body  in  just 
such  fashion,  and,  as  I  realized,  were  most  cunningly 
shaped  to  that  end.  The  whole  of  Smith's  body  lay 
now  in  the  wire  cage,  each  of  the  five  compartments 
whereof  was  shut  off  from  its  neighbor. 

The  Burman  stepped  back  and  stood  waiting  in 
the  doorway.  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  removing  his  gaze 
from  the  face  of  my  friend,  directed  it  now  upon  me. 

"  Mr.  Commissioner  Nayland  Smith  shall  have 
the  honor  of  acting  as  hierophant,  admitting  him- 
self to  the  Mysteries,"  said  Fu-Manchu  softly,  "  and 
you,  Dr.  Petrie,  shall  be  the  Friend." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  Six  GATES 

HE  glanced  toward  the  Burman,  who  retired 
r  immediately,  to  re-enter  a  moment  later  carry- 
ing a  curious  leather  sack,  in  shape  not  unlike  that 
of  a  sakka  or  Arab  water-carrier.  Opening  a  little 
trap  in  the  top  of  the  first  compartment  of  the  cage 
(that  is,  the  compartment  which  covered  Smith's 
bare  feet  and  ankles)  he  inserted  the  neck  of  the 
sack,  then  suddenly  seized  it  by  the  bottom  and  shook 
it  vigorously.  Before  my  horrified  gaze,  four  huge 
rats  came  tumbling  out  from  the  bag  into  the  cage ! 

The  dacoit  snatched  away  the  sack  and  snapped 
the  shutter  fast.  A  moving  mist  obscured  my  sight, 
a  mist  through  which  I  saw  the  green  eyes  of  Dr. 
Fu-Manchu  fixed  upon  me,  and  through  which,  as 
from  a  great  distance,  his  voice,  sunk  to  a  snake-like 
hiss,  came  to  my  ears. 

"  Cantonese  rats,  Dr.  Petrie  .  .  .  the  most  rav- 
enous in  the  world  .  .  .  they  have  eaten  nothing 
for  nearly  a  week!  " 

Then  all  became  blurred  as  though  a  painter  with 
a  brush  steeped  in  red  had  smudged  out  the  details 
of  the  picture.  For  an  indefinite  period,  which 
seemed  like  many  minutes  yet  probably  was  only  a 

291 


292     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

few  seconds,  I  saw  nothing  and  heard  nothing;  my 
sensory  nerves  were  dulled  entirely.  From  this 
state  I  was  awakened  and  brought  back  to  the  reali- 
ties by  a  sound  which  ever  afterward  I  was  doomed 
to  associate  with  that  ghastly  scene. 

This  was  the  squealing  of  the  rats. 

The  red  mist  seemed  to  disperse  at  that,  and  with 
frightfully  intense  interest,  I  began  to  study  the  aw- 
ful torture  to  which  Nayland  Smith  was  being  sub- 
jected. The  dacoit  had  disappeared,  and  Fu-Man- 
chu  placidly  was  watching  the  four  lean  and  hideous 
animals  in  the  cage.  As  I  also  turned  my  eyes  in 
that  direction,  the  rats  overcame  their  temporary 
fear,  and  began  .  .  . 

"  You  have  been  good  enough  to  notice,"  said  the 
Chinaman,  his  voice  still  sunk  in  that  sibilant 
whisper,  "  my  partiality  for  dumb  allies.  You  have 
met  my  scorpions,  my  death-adders,  my  baboon- 
man.  The  uses  of  such  a  playful  little  animal  as  a 
marmoset  have  never  been  fully  appreciated  before, 
I  think,  but  to  an  indiscretion  of  this  last-named  pet 
of  mine,  I  seem  to  remember  that  you  owed  some- 
thing in  the  past,  Dr.  Petrie  .  .  ." 

Nayland  Smith  stifled  a  deep  groan.  One  rapid 
glance  I  ventured  at  his  face.  It  was  a  grayish  hue, 
now,  and  dank  with  perspiration.  His  gaze  met 
mine. 

The  rats  had  almost  ceased  squealing. 

"  Much  depends  upon  yourself,  Doctor,"  con- 
tinued Fu-Manchu,  slightly  raising  his  voice.  "  I 


THE  SIX  GATES  293 

credit  Mr.  Commissioner  Nayland  Smith  with  cour- 
age high  enough  to  sustain  the  raising  of  all  the 
gates ;  but  I  estimate  the  strength  of  your  friendship 
highly,  also,  and  predict  that  you  will  use  the  sword 
of  the  samurai  certainly  not  later  than  the  time  when 
I  shall  raise  the  third  gate.  .  .  ." 

A  low  shuddering  sound,  which  I  cannot  hope  to 
describe,  but  alas !  can  never  forget,  broke  from  the 
lips  of  the  tortured  man. 

"  In  China,"  resumed  Fu-Manchu,  "  we  call  this 
quaint  fancy  the  Six  Gates  of  Joyful  Wisdom.  The 
first  gate,  by  which  the  rats  are  admitted,  is  called 
the  Gate  of  Joyous  Hope;  the  second,  the  Gate  of 
Mirthful  Doubt.  The  third  gate  is  poetically 
named*  the  Gate  of  True  Rapture,  and  the  fourth, 
the  Gate  of  Gentle  Sorrow.  I  once  was  honored  in 
the  friendship  of  an  exalted  mandarin  who  sustained 
the  course  of  Joyful  Wisdom  to  the  raising  of  the 
Fifth  Gate  (called  the  Gate  of  Sweet  Desires)  and 
the  admission  of  the  twentieth  rat.  I  esteem  him 
almost  equally  with  my  ancestors.  The  Sixth,  or 
Gate  Celestial  —  whereby  a  man  enters  into  the  Joy 
of  Complete  Understanding  —  I  have  dispensed 
with,  here,  substituting  a  Japanese  fancy  of  an 
antiquity  nearly  as  great  and  honorable.  The  in- 
troduction of  this  element  of  speculation,  I  count  a 
happy  thought,  and  accordingly  take  pride  to  my- 
self." 

"  The  sword,  Petrie !  "  whispered  Smith.  I 
should  not  have  recognized  his  voice,  but  he  spoke 


294    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

quite  evenly  and  steadily.  "  I  rely  upon  you,  old 
man,  to  spare  me  the  humiliation  of  asking  mercy 
from  that  yellow  fiend!  " 

My  mind  throughout  this  time  had  been  gaining 
a  sort  of  dreadful  clarity.  I  had  avoided  looking 
at  the  sword  of  hara-kiri,  but  my  thoughts  had  been 
leading  me  mercilessly  up  to  the  point  at  which  we 
were  now  arrived.  No  vestige  of  anger,  of  con- 
demnation of  the  inhuman  being  seated  in  the  ebony 
chair,  remained;  that  was  past.  Of  all  that  had 
gone  before,  and  of  what  was  to  come  in  the  future, 
I  thought  nothing,  knew  nothing.  Our  long  fight 
against  the  yellow  group,  our  encounters  with  the 
numberless  creatures  of  Fu-Manchu,  the  dacoits  — 
even  Karamaneh  —  were  forgotten,  blotted  out.  I 
saw  nothing  of  the  strange  appointments  of  that 
subterranean  chamber;  but  face  to  face  with  the 
supreme  moment  of  a  lifetime,  I  was  alone  with  my 
poor  friend  —  and  God. 

The  rats  began  squealing  again.  They  were 
fighting  .  .  . 

"  Quick,  Petrie !  Quick,  man  I  I  am  weaken- 
ing " 

I  turned  and  took  up  the  samurai  sword.  My 
hands  were  very  hot  and  dry,  but  perfectly  steady, 
and  I  tested  the  edge  of  the  heavy  weapon  upon  my 
left  thumb-nail  as  quietly  as  one  might  test  a  razor 
blade.  It  was  as  keen,  this  blade  of  ghastly  history, 
as  any  razor  ever  wrought  in  Sheffield.  I  seized  the 
graven  hilt,  bent  forward  in  my  chair,  and  raised 


THE  SIX  GATES  295 

the  Friend's  Sword  high  above  my  head.  With 
the  heavy  weapon  poised  there,  I  looked  into  my 
friend's  eyes.  They  were  feverishly  bright,  but 
never  in  all  my  days,  nor  upon  the  many  beds  of 
suffering  which  it  had  been  my  lot  to  visit,  had  I 
seen  an  expression  like  that  within  them. 

"  The  raising  of  the  First  Gate  is  always  a  crucial 
moment,"  came  the  guttural  voice  of  the  Chinaman. 

Although  I  did  not  see  him,  and  barely  heard  his 
words,  I  was  aware  that  he  had  stood  up  and  was 
bending  forward  over  the  lower  end  of  the  cage. 

"Now,  Petrie!  now!  God  bless  you  .  .  .  and 
good-by  ..." 

From  somewhere  —  somewhere  remote  —  I 
heard  a  hoarse  and  animal-like  cry,  followed  by  the 
sound  of  a  heavy  fall.  I  can  scarcely  bear  to  write 
of  that  moment,  for  I  had  actually  begun  the  down- 
ward sweep  of  the  great  sword  when  that  sound 
came  —  a  faint  Hope,  speaking  of  aid  where  I  had 
thought  no  aid  possible. 

How  I  contrived  to  divert  the  blade,  I  do  not  know 
to  this  day;  but  I  do  know  that  its  mighty  sweep 
sheared  a  lock  from  Smith's  head  and  laid  bare 
the  scalp.  With  the  hilt  in  my  quivering  hands  I 
saw  the  blade  bite  deeply  through  the  carpet  and 
floor  above  Nayland  Smith's  skull.  There,  buried 
fully  two  inches  in  the  woodwork,  it  stuck,  and  still 
clutching  the  hilt,  I  looked  to  the  right  and  across 
the  room  —  I  looked  to  the  curtained  doorway. 

Fu-Manchu,  with  one  long,  claw-like  hand  upon 


296    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

the  top  of  the  First  Gate,  was  bending  over  the  trap, 
but  his  brilliant  green  eyes  were  turned  in  the  same 
direction  as  my  own  —  upon  the  curtained  doorway. 

Upright  within  it,  her  beautiful  face  as  pale  as 
death,  but  her  great  eyes  blazing  with  a  sort  of 
splendid  madness,  stood  Karamaneh! 

She  looked,  not  at  the  tortured  man,  not  at  me, 
but  fully  at  Dr.  Fu-Manchu.  One  hand  clutched 
the  trembling  draperies;  now  she  suddenly  raised 
the  other,  so  that  the  jewels  on  her  white  arm  glit- 
tered in  the  light  of  the  lamp  above  the  door.  She 
held  my  Browning  pistol!  Fu-Manchu  sprang  up- 
right, inhaling  sibilantly,  as  Karamaneh  pointed  the 
pistol  point  blank  at  his  high  skull  and  fired.  .  .  . 

I  saw  a  little  red  streak  appear,  up  by  the  neutral 
colored  hair,  under  the  black  cap.  I  became  as  a 
detached  intelligence,  unlinked  with  the  corporeal, 
looking  down  upon  a  thing  which  for  some  reason 
I  had  never  thought  to  witness. 

Fu-Manchu  threw  up  both  arms,  so  that  the 
sleeves  of  the  green  robe  fell  back  to  the  elbows. 
He  clutched  at  his  head,  and  the  black  cap  fell  be- 
hind him.  He  began  to  utter  short,  guttural  cries; 
he  swayed  backward  —  to  the  right  —  to  the  left  — 
then  lurched  forward  right  across  the  cage.  There 
he  lay,  writhing,  for  a  moment,  his  baneful  eyes 
turned  up,  revealing  the  whites;  and  the  great  gray 
rats,  released,  began  leaping  about  the  room.  Two 
shot  like  gray  streaks  past  the  slim  figure  in  the  door- 
way, one  darted  behind  the  chair  to  which  I  was 


THE  SIX  GATES  297 

lashed,  and  the  fourth  ran  all  around  against  the 
wall  .  .  .  Fu-Manchu,  prostrate  across  the  over- 
turned cage,  lay  still,  his  massive  head  sagging  down- 
ward. 

I  experienced  a  mental  repetition  of  my  adventure 
in  the  earlier  evening  —  I  was  dropping,  dropping, 
dropping  into  some  bottomless  pit  ...  warm  arms 
were  about  my  neck;  and  burning  kisses  upon  my  lips- 


CHAPTER  XXX 
THE  CALL  OF  THE  EAST 

I  SEEMED  to  haul  myself  back  out  of  the  pit  of 
unconsciousness  by  the  aid  of  two  little  hands 
which  clasped  my  own.  I  uttered  a  sigh  that  was 
almost  a  sob,  and  opened  my  eyes. 

I  was  sitting  in  the  big  red-leathern  armchair  in 
my  own  study  .  .  .  and  a  lovely  but  truly  bizarre 
figure,  in  a  harem  dress,  was  kneeling  on  the  carpet 
at  my  feet;  so  that  my  first  sight  of  the  world  was  the 
sweetest  sight  that  the  world  had  to  offer  me,  the 
dark  eyes  of  Karamaneh,  with  tears  trembling  like 
jewels  upon  her  lashes! 

I  looked  no  further  than  that,  heeded  not  if  there 
were  others  in  the  room  beside  we  two,  but,  grip- 
ping the  jewel  laden  fingers  in  what  must  have  been 
a  cruel  clasp,  I  searched  the  depths  of  the  glorious 
eyes  in  ever  growing  wonder.  What  change  had 
taken  place  in  those  limpid,  mysterious  pools  ?  Why 
was  a  wild  madness  growing  up  within  me  like  a 
flame?  Why  was  the  old  longing  returned,  ten-thou- 
sandfold, to  snatch  that  pliant,  exquisite  shape  to  my 
breast? 

No  word  was  spoken,  but  the  spoken  words  of  a 
thousand  ages  could  not  have  expressed  one  tithe 

298 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  EAST          299 

what  was  held  in  that  silent  communion.  A  hand 
was  laid  hesitatingly  on  my  shoulder.  I  tore  my 
gaze  away  from  the  lovely  face  so  near  to  mine,  and 
glanced  up. 

Aziz  stood  at  the  back  of  my  chair. 

"  God  is  all  merciful,"  he  said.  "  My  sister  is 
restored  to  us  "  (I  loved  him  for  the  plural)  ;  "  and 
she  remembers" 

Those  few  words  were  enough ;  I  understood  now 
that  this  lovely  girl,  who  half  knelt,  half  lay,  at  my 
feet,  was  not  the  evil,  perverted  creature  of  Fu- 
Manchu  whom  we  had  gone  out  to  arrest  with  the 
other  vile  servants  of  the  Chinese  doctor,  but  was  the 
old,  beloved  companion  of  two  years  ago,  the  Kara- 
maneh  for  whom  I  had  sought  long  and  wearily  in 
Egypt,  who  had  been  swallowed  up  and  lost  to  me 
in  that  land  of  mystery. 

The  loss  of  memory  which  Fu-Manchu  had  arti- 
ficially induced  was  subject  to  the  same  inexplicable 
laws  which  ordinarily  rule  in  cases  of  amnesia.  The 
shock  of  her  brave  action  that  night  had  begun  to 
effect  a  cure;  the  sight  of  Aziz  had  completed  it. 

Inspector  Weymouth  was  standing  by  the  writing- 
table.  My  mind  cleared  rapidly  now,  and  stand- 
ing up,  but  without  releasing  the  girl's  hands,  so  that 
I  drew  herjip  beside  me,  I  said: 

"Weymouth  —  where  is — ?" 

"  He's  waiting  to  see  you,  Doctor,"  replied  the 
inspector. 

A  pang,  almost  physical,  struck  at  my  heart. 


300    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  Poor,  dear  old  Smith!  "  I  cried,  with  a  break  in 
my  voice. 

Dr.  Gray,  a  neighboring  practitioner,  appeared  in 
the  doorway  at  the  moment  that  I  spoke  the  words. 

"  It's  all  right,  Petrie,"  he  said,  reassuringly;  "  I 
think  we  took  it  in  time.  I  have  thoroughly  cauter- 
ized the  wounds,  and  granted  that  no  complication 
sets  in,  he'll  be  on  his  feet  again  in  a  week  or  two." 

I  suppose  I  was  in  a  condition  closely  bordering 
upon  the  hysterical.  At  any  rate,  my  behavior  was 
extraordinary.  I  raised  both  my  hands  above  my 
head. 

"  Thank  God !  "  I  cried  at  the  top  of  my  voice, 
"  thank  God !  —  thank  God  1  " 

"  Thank  Him,  indeed,"  responded  the  musical 
voice  of  Aziz.  He  spoke  with  all  the  passionate  de- 
voutness  of  the  true  Moslem. 

Everything,  even  Karamaneh,  was  forgotten,  and 
I  started  for  the  door  as  though  my  life  depended 
upon  my  speed.  With  one  foot  upon  the  landing, 
I  turned,  looked  back,  and  met  the  glance  of  In- 
spector Weymouth. 

"What  have  you  done  with  —  the  body?"  I 
asked. 

"  We  haven't  been  able  to  get  to  it.  That  end  of 
the  vault  collapsed  two  minutes  after  we^hauled  you 
out!" 

As  I  write,  now,  of  those  strange  days,  already 
they  seem  remote  and  unreal.  But,  where  other  and 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  EAST         301 

more  dreadful  memories  already  are  grown  misty, 
the  memory  of  that  evening  in  my  rooms  remains 
clear-cut  and  intimate.  It  marked  a  crisis  in  my  life. 

During  the  days  that  immediately  followed,  whilst 
Smith  was  slowly  recovering  from  his  hurts,  I  made 
my  plans  deliberately;  I  prepared  to  cut  myself  off 
from  old  associations  —  prepared  to  exile  myself, 
gladly;  how  gladly  I  cannot  hope  to  express  in  mere 
cold  words. 

That  my  friend  approved  of  my  projects,  I  cannot 
truthfully  state,  but  his  disapproval  at  least  was  not 
openly  expressed.  To  Karamaneh  I  said  nothing 
of  my  plans,  but  her  complete  reliance  in  my  powers 
to  protect  her,  now,  from  all  harm,  was  at  once  pa- 
thetic and  exquisite. 

Since,  always,  I  have  sought  in  these  chronicles  to 
confine  myself  to  the  facts  directly  relating  to  the 
malignant  activity  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  I  shall  abstain 
from  burdening  you  with  details  of  my  private  af- 
fairs. As  an  instrument  of  the  Chinese  doctor,  it 
has  sometimes  been  my  duty  to  write  of  the  beauti- 
ful Eastern  girl;  I  cannot  suppose  that  my  readers 
have  any  further  curiosity  respecting  her  from  the 
moment  that  Fate  freed  her  from  that  awful  servi- 
tude. Therefore,  when  I  shall  have  dealt  with  the 
episodes  which  marked  our  voyage  to  Egypt  —  I  had 
opened  negotiations  in  regard  to  a  practice  in  Cairo 
—  I  may  honorably  lay  down  my  pen. 

These  episodes  opened,  dramatically,  upon  the  sec- 
ond night  of  the  voyage  from  Marseilles. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

"  MY  SHADOW  LIES  UPON  You  " 

I  SUPPOSE  I  did  not  awake  very  readily.  Fol- 
lowing the  nervous  vigilance  of  the  past  six 
months,  my  tired  nerves,  in  the  enjoyment  of  this 
relaxation,  were  rapidly  recuperating.  I  no  longer 
feared  to  awake  to  find  a  knife  at  my  throat,  no 
longer  dreaded  the  darkness  as  a  foe. 

So  that  the  voice  may  have  been  calling  (indeed,  had 
been  calling)  for  some  time,  and  of  this  I  had  been 
hazily  conscious  before  finally  I  awoke.  Then,  ere 
the  new  sense  of  security  came  to  reassure  me,  the  old 
sense  of  impending  harm  set  my  heart  leaping  nerv- 
ously. There  is  always  a  certain  physical  panic  at- 
tendant upon  such  awakening  in  the  still  of  night, 
especially  in  novel  surroundings.  Now,  I  sat  up  ab- 
ruptly, clutching  at  the  rail  of  my  berth  and  listening. 

There  was  a  soft  thudding  on  my  cabin  door,  and 
a  voice,  low  and  urgent,  was  crying  my  name. 

Through  the  open  porthole  the  moonlight 
streamed  into  my  room,  and  save  for  a  remote  and 
soothing  throb,  inseparable  from  the  progress  of  a 
great  steamship,  nothing  else  disturbed  the  stillness; 
I  might  have  floated  lonely  upon  the  bosom  of  the 

302 


"  MY  SHADOW  LIES  UPON  YOU  "     303 

Mediterranean.  But  there  was  the  drumming  on  the 
door  again,  and  the  urgent  appeal: 

"Dr.  Petrie!     Dr.  Petrie!" 

I  threw  off  the  bedclothes  and  stepped  on  to  the 
floor  of  the  cabin,  fumbling  hastily  for  my  slippers. 
A  fear  that  something  was  amiss,  that  some  after- 
math, some  wraith  of  the  dread  Chinaman,  was  yet 
to  come  to  disturb  our  premature  peace,  began  to 
haunt  me.  I  threw  open  the  door. 

Upon  the  gleaming  deck,  blackly  outlined  against 
a  wondrous  sky,  stood  a  man  who  wore  a  blue  great- 
coat over  his  pyjamas,  and  whose  unstockinged  feet 
were  thrust  into  red  slippers.  It  was  Platts,  the 
Marconi  operator. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry  to  disturb  you,  Dr.  Petrie," 
he  said,  "  and  I  was  even  less  anxious  to  arouse  your 
neighbor;  but  somebody  seems  to  be  trying  to  get  a 
message,  presumably  urgent,  through  to  you." 

"  To  me  I  "  I  cried. 

"  I  cannot  make  it  out,"  admitted  Platts,  running 
his  fingers  through  disheveled  hair,  "  but  I  thought 
it  better  to  arouse  you.  Will  you  come  up  ?  " 

I  turned  without  a  word,  slipped  into  my  dressing- 
gown,  and  with  Platts  passed  aft  along  the  deserted 
deck.  The  sea  was  as  calm  as  a  great  lake.  Ahead, 
on  the  port  bow,  an  angry  flambeau  burned  redly  be- 
neath the  peaceful  vault  of  the  heavens.  Platts 
nodded  absently  in  the  direction  of  the  weird  flames. 

"  Stromboli,"  he  said ;  "  we  shall  be  nearly  through 
the  Straits  by  breakfast-time." 


304    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

We  mounted  the  narrow  stair  to  the  Marconi  deck. 
At  the  table  sat  Platts'  assistant  with  the  Marconi 
attachment  upon  his  head  —  an  apparatus  which  al- 
ways set  me  thinking  of  the  electric  chair. 

"  Have  you  got  it?  "  demanded  my  companion  as 
we  entered  the  room. 

"  It's  still  coming  through,"  replied  the  other 
without  moving,  "  but  in  the  same  jerky  fashion. 
Every  time  I  get  it,  it  seems  to  have  gone  back  to 
the  beginning  —  just  Dr.  Petrie  —  Dr.  Petrie." 

He  began  to  listen  again  for  the  elusive  message. 
I  turned  to  Platts. 

"  Where  is  it  being  sent  from?  "  I  asked. 

Platts  shook  his  head. 

"That's  the  mystery,"  he  declared.  "Look!" 
—  he  pointed  to  the  table;  "  according  to  the  Mar- 
coni chart,  there's  a  Messagerie  boat  due  west  be- 
tween us  and  Marseilles,  and  the  homeward-bound 
P.  &  O.  which  we  passed  this  morning  must  be  get- 
ting on  that  way  also,  by  now.  The  Isis  is  some- 
where ahead,  but  I've  spoken  all  these,  and  the  mes- 
sage comes  from  none  of  them." 

"  Then  it  may  come  from  Messina." 

"  It  doesn't  come  from  Messina,"  replied  the  man 
at  the  table,  beginning  to  write  rapidly. 

Platts  stepped  forward  and  bent  over  the  message 
which  the  other  was  writing. 

"  Here  it  is!  "  he  cried,  excitedly;  "  we're  getting 
it." 

Stepping  in  turn  to  the  table,  I  leaned  over  between 


"  MY  SHADOW  LIES  UPON  YOU  "     305 

the  two  and  read  these  words  as  the  operator  wrote 
them  down : 

Dr.  Petrie  —  my  shadow  .  .  . 

I  drew  a  quick  breath  and  gripped  Platts'  shoulder 
harshly.  His  assistant  began  fingering  the  instru- 
ment with  irritation. 

"  Lost  it  again!  "  he  muttered. 

"  This  message,"  I  began  .  .  . 

But  again  the  pencil  was  traveling  over  the  paper : 
—  lies  upon  you  all  .  .  .  end  of  message. 

The  operator  stood  up  and  unclasped  the  receivers 
from  his  ears.  There,  high  above  the  sleeping  ship's 
company,  with  the  carpet  of  the  blue  Mediterranean 
stretched  indefinitely  about  us,  we  three  stood  look- 
ing at  one  another.  By  virtue  of  a  miracle  of  mod- 
ern science,  some  one,  divided  from  me  by  mile  upon 
mile  of  boundless  ocean,  had  spoken  —  and  had  been 
heard. 

"  Is  there  no  means  of  learning,"  I  said,  "  from 
whence  this  message  emanated?  " 

Platts  shook  his  head,  perplexedly. 

"  They  gave  no  code  word,"  he  said.  "  God 
knows  who  they  were.  It's  a  strange  business  and  a 
strange  message.  Have  you  any  sort  of  idea,  Dr. 
Petrie,  respecting  the  identity  of  the  sender?  " 

I  stared  him  hard  in  the  face;  an  idea  had  mechan- 
ically entered  my  mind,  but  one  of  which  I  did  not 
choose  to  speak,  since  it  was  opposed  to  human  possi- 
bility. 

But,  had  I  not  seen  with  my  own  eyes  the  bloody 


306    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

streak  across  his  forehead  as  the  shot  fired  by  Kara- 
maneh entered  his  high  skull,  had  I  not  known,  so 
certainly  as  it  is  given  to  man  to  know,  that  the  giant 
intellect  was  no  more,  the  mighty  will  impotent,  I 
should  have  replied: 

'  The  message  is  from  Dr.  Fu-Manchu !  " 

My  reflections  were  rudely  terminated  and  my 
sinister  thoughts  given  new  stimulus,  by  a  loud  though 
muffled  cry  which  reached  me  from  somewhere  in  the 
ship,  below.  Both  my  companions  started  as  vio- 
lently as  I,  whereby  I  knew  that  the  mystery  of  the 
wireless  message  had  not  been  without  its  effect  upon 
their  minds  also.  But  whereas  they  paused  in  doubt, 
I  leaped  from  the  room  and  almost  threw  myself 
down  the  ladder. 

It  was  Karamaneh  who  had  uttered  that  cry  of 
fear  and  horror! 

Although  I  could  perceive  no  connection  betwixt 
the  strange  message  and  the  cry  in  the  night,  intui- 
tively I  linked  them,  intuitively  I  knew  that  my  fears 
had  been  well-grounded;  that  the  shadow  of  Fu- 
Manchu  still  lay  upon  us. 

Karamaneh  occupied  a  large  stateroom  aft  on  the 
main  deck;  so  that  I  had  to  descend  from  the  upper 
deck  on  which  my  own  room  was  situated  to  the 
promenade  deck,  again  to  the  main  deck  and  thence 
proceed  nearly  the  whole  length  of  the  alleyway. 

Karamaneh  and  her  brother,  Aziz,  who  occupied 
a  neighboring  room,  met  me,  near  the  library. 
Karamaneh's  eyes  were  wide  with  fear;  her  peerless 


"  MY  SHADOW  LIES  UPON  YOU  "     307 

coloring  had  fled,  and  she  was  white  to  the  lips. 
Aziz,  who  wore  a  dressing-gown  thrown  hastily  over 
his  night  attire,  had  his  arm  protectively  about  the 
girl's  shoulders. 

"The  mummy!"  she  whispered  tremulously  — 
"  the  mummy!  " 

There  came  a  sound  of  opening  doors,  and  several 
passengers,  whom  Karamaneh's  cries  had  alarmed, 
appeared  in  various  stages  of  undress.  A  steward- 
ess came  running  from  the  far  end  of  the  alleyway, 
and  I  found  time  to  wonder  at  my  own  speed;  for, 
starting  from  the  distant  Marconi  deck,  yet  I  had 
been  the  first  to  arrive  upon  the  scene. 

Stacey,  the  ship's  doctor,  was  quartered  at  no  great 
distance  from  the  spot,  and  he  now  joined  the  group. 
Anticipating  the  question  which  trembled  upon  the 
lips  of  several  of  those  about  me : 

"  Come  to  Dr.  Stacey's  room,"  I  said,  taking 
Karamaneh's  arm ;  "  we  will  give  you  something  to 
enable  you  to  sleep."  I  turned  to  the  group.  "  My 
patient  has  had  severe  nerve  trouble,"  I  explained, 
"  and  has  developed  somnambulistic  tendencies." 

I  declined  the  stewardess'  offer  of  assistance,  with 
a  slight  shake  of  the  head,  and  shortly  the  four  of 
us  entered  the  doctor's  cabin,  on  the  deck  above. 
Stacey  carefully  closed  the  door.  He  was  an  old  fel- 
low student  of  mine,  and  already  he  knew  much  of 
the  history  of  the  beautiful  Eastern  girl  and  her 
brother  Aziz. 

"  I  fear  there's  mischief  afoot,  Petrie,"  he  saidc 


308     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

'  Thanks  to  your  presence  of  mind,  the  ship's  gossips 
need  know  nothing  of  it." 

I  glanced  at  Karamaneh,  who,  since  the  moment 
of  my  arrival  had  never  once  removed  her  gaze  from 
me;  she  remained  in  that  state  of  passive  fear  in 
which  I  had  found  her,  the  lovely  face  pallid;  and 
she  stared  at  me  fixedly  in  a  childish,  expressionless 
way  which  made  me  fear  that  the  shock  to  which  she 
had  been  subjected,  whatever  its  nature,  had  caused  a 
relapse  into  that  strange  condition  of  forgetfulness 
from  which  a  previous  shock  had  aroused  her.  I 
could  see  that  Stacey  shared  my  view,  for : 

"  Something  has  frightened  you,"  he  said  gently, 
seating  himself  on  the  arm  of  Karamaneh's  chair 
and  patting  her  hand  as  if  to  reassure  her.  "  Tell 
us  all  about  it." 

For  the  first  time  since  our  meeting  that  night,  the 
girl  turned  her  eyes  from  me  and  glanced  up  at 
Stacey,  a  sudden  warm  blush  stealing  over  her  face 
and  throat  and  as  quickly  departing,  to  leave  her 
even  more  pale  than  before.  She  grasped  Stacey's 
hand  in  both  her  own  —  and  looked  again  at  me. 

"  Send  for  Mr.  Nayland  Smith  without  delay!  " 
she  said,  and  her  sweet  voice  was  slightly  tremulous. 
"  He  must  be  put  on  his  guard !  " 

I  started  up. 

"  Why?  "  I  said.  "  For  God's  sake  tell  us  what 
has  happened!  " 

Aziz,  who  evidently  was  as  anxious  as  myself  for 
information,  and  who  now  knelt  at  his  sister's  feet 


"  MY  SHADOW  LIES  UPON  YOU  "     309 

looking  at  her  with  that  strange  love,  which  was  al- 
most adoration,  in  his  eyes,  glanced  back  at  me  and 
nodded  his  head  rapidly. 

"  Something  " —  Karamaneh  paused,  shuddering 
violently  — "  some  dreadful  thing,  like  a  mummy  es- 
caped from  its  tomb,  came  into  my  room  to-night 
through  the  porthole  .  .  ." 

"Through  the  porthole?"  echoed  Stacey,  amaz- 
edly. 

"  Yes,  yes,  through  the  porthole !  A  creature 
tall  and  very,  very  thin.  He  wore  wrappings  — 
yellow  wrappings  —  swathed  about  his  head,  so  that 
only  his  eyes,  his  evil  gleaming  eyes,  were  visible. 
.  .  .  From  waist  to  knees  he  was  covered,  also,  but 
his  body,  his  feet,  and  his  legs  were  bare  .  .  ." 

"Was  he—  ?"  I  began  .  .  . 

"  He  was  a  brown  man,  yes  " —  Karamaneh,  divin- 
ing my  question,  nodded,  and  the  shimmering  cloud 
of  her  wonderful  hair,  hastily  confined,  burst  free 
and  rippled  about  her  shoulders.  "  A  gaunt,  flesh- 
less  brown  man,  who  bent,  and  writhed  bony  fingers 
—  so!" 

"A  thug!"  I  cried. 

"  He  —  it  —  the  mummy  thing  —  would  have 
strangled  me  if  I  had  slept,  for  he  crouched  over  the 
berth  —  seeking  —  seeking  .  .  ." 

I  clenched  my  teeth  convulsively. 

"  But  I  was  sitting  up  — " 

"With  the  light  on?"  interrupted  Stacey  in  sur- 
prse. 


310    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"No,"  added  Karamaneh;  "the  light  was  out." 
She  turned  her  eyes  toward  me,  as  the  wonderful 
blush  overspread  her  face  once  more.  "  I  was  sit- 
ting thinking.  It  all  happened  within  a  few  sec- 
onds, and  quite  silently.  As  the  mummy  crouched 
over  the  berth,  I  unlocked  the  door  and  leaped  out 
into  the  passage.  I  think  I  screamed ;  I  did  not  mean 
to.  Oh,  Dr.  Stacey,  there  is  not  a  moment  to  spare ! 
Mr.  Nayland  Smith  must  be  warned  immediately. 
Some  horrible  servant  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  is  on  the 
ship!" 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  TRAGEDY 

NAYLAND  SMITH  leaned  against  the  edge  of 
the  dressing-table,  attired  in  pyjamas.  The 
little  stateroom  was  hazy  with  smoke,  and  my  friend 
gripped  the  charred  briar  between  his  teeth  and 
watched  the  blue-gray  clouds  arising  from  the  bowl, 
in  an  abstracted  way.  I  knew  that  he  was  thinking 
hard,  and  from  the  fact  that  he  had  exhibited  no 
surprise  when  I  had  related  to  him  the  particulars 
of  the  attack  upon  Karamaneh,  I  judged  that  he  had 
half  anticipated  something  of  the  kind.  Suddenly 
he  stood  up,  staring  at  me  fixedly. 

"  Your  tact  has  saved  the  situation,  Petrie,"  he 
snapped.  "  It  failed  you  momentarily,  though,  when 
you  proposed  to  me  just  now  that  we  should  muster 
the  lascars  for  inspection.  Our  game  is  to  pretend 
that  we  know  nothing  —  that  we  believe  Karamaneh 
to  have  had  a  bad  dream." 

"  But,  Smith,"  I  began  — 

"  It  would  be  useless,  Petrie,"  he  interrupted  me. 
"  You  cannot  suppose  that  I  overlooked  the  possi- 
bility of  some  creature  of  the  doctor's  being  among 
the  lascars.  I  can  assure  you  that  not  one  of  them 
answers  to  the  description  of  the  midnight  assailant. 
From  the  girl's  account  we  have  to  look  (discarding 

3" 


312     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

the  idea  of  a  revivified  mummy)  for  a  man  of  un- 
usual height — and  there's  no  lascar  of  unusual 
height  on  board;  and  from  the  visible  evidence,  that 
he  entered  the  stateroom  through  the  porthole,  we 
have  to  look  for  a  man  more  than  normally  thin.  In 
a  word,  the  servant  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  who  at- 
tempted the  life  of  Karamaneh  is  either  in  hiding  on 
the  ship,  or,  if  visible,  is  disguised." 

With  his  usual  clarity  of  vision,  Nayland  Smith 
had  visualized  the  facts  of  the  case;  I  passed  in 
mental  survey  each  one  of  the  passengers,  and  those 
of  the  crew  whose  appearances  were  familiar  to  me, 
with  the  result  that  I  had  to  admit  the  justice  of  my 
friend's  conclusions.  Smith  began  to  pace  the  nar- 
row strip  of  carpet  between  the  dressing-table  and 
the  door.  Suddenly  he  began  again. 

"  From  our  knowledge  of  Fu-Manchu  —  and  of 
the  group  surrounding  him  (and,  don't  forget,  sur- 
viving him)  —  we  may  further  assume  that  the  wire- 
less message  was  no  gratuitous  piece  of  melodrama, 
but  that  it  was  directed  to  a  definite  end.  Let  us  en- 
deavor to  link  up  the  chain  a  little.  You  occupy  an 
upper  deck  berth ;  so  do  I.  Experience  of  the  China- 
man has  formed  a  habit  in  both  of  us;  that  of  sleep- 
ing with  closed  windows.  Your  port  was  fastened 
and  so  was  my  own.  Karamaneh  is  quartered  on 
the  main  deck,  and  her  brother's  stateroom  opens  into 
the  same  alleyway.  Since  the  ship  is  in  the  Straits  of 
Messina,  and  the  glass  set  fair,  the  stewards  have  not 
closed  the  portholes  nightly  at  present.  We  know 


THE  TRAGEDY  313 

that  that  of  Karamaneh's  stateroom  was  open. 
Therefore,  in  any  attempt  upon  our  quartet,  Kara- 
maneh  would  automatically  be  selected  for  the  victim, 
since  failing  you  or  myself  she  may  be  regarded  as 
being  the  most  obnoxious  to  Dr.  Fu-Manchu. 

I  nodded  comprehendingly.  Smith's  capacity  for 
throwing  the  white  light  of  reason  into  the  darkest 
places  often  amazed  me. 

"  You  may  have  noticed,"  he  continued,  "  that 
Karamaneh's  room  is  directly  below  your  own.  In 
the  event  of  any  outcry,  you  would  be  sooner  upon 
the  scene  than  I  should,  for  instance,  because  I  sleep 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  ship.  This  circumstance 
I  take  to  be  the  explanation  of  the  wireless  message, 
which,  because  of  its  hesitancy  (a  piece  of  ingenuity 
very  characteristic  of  the  group),  led  to  your  being 
awakened  and  invited  up  to  the  Marconi  deck;  in 
short,  it  gave  the  would-be  assassin  a  better  chance 
of  escaping  before  your  arrival." 

I  watched  my  friend  in  growing  wonder.  The 
strange  events,  seemingly  having  no  link,  took  their 
places  in  the  drama,  and  became  well-ordered  epi- 
sodes in  a  plot  that  only  a  criminal  genius  could 
have  devised.  As  I  studied  the  keen,  bronzed  face, 
I  realized  to  the  full  the  stupendous  mental  power  of 
Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  measuring  it  by  the  criterion  of 
Nayland  Smith's.  For  the  cunning  Chinaman,  in  a 
sense,  had  foiled  this  brilliant  man  before  me, 
whereby,  if  by  nought  else,  I  might  know  him  a  mas- 
ter of  his  evil  art. 


314    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

"  I  regard  the  episode,"  continued  Smith,  "  as  a 
posthumous  attempt  of  the  doctor's;  a  legacy  of  hate 
which  may  prove  more  disastrous  than  any  attempt 
made  upon  us  by  Fu-Manchu  in  life.  Some  fiendish 
member  of  the  murder  group  is  on  board  the  ship. 
We  must,  as  always,  meet  guile  with  guile.  There 
must  be  no  appeal  to  the  captain,  no  public  examina- 
tion of  passengers  and  crew.  One  attempt  has 
failed;  I  do  not  doubt  that  others  will  be  made.  At 
present,  you  will  enact  the  role  of  physician-in-attend- 
ance  upon  Karamaneh,  and  will  put  it  about  for 
whom  it  may  interest  that  a  slight  return  of  her 
nervous  trouble  is  causing  her  to  pass  uneasy  nights. 
I  can  safely  leave  this  part  of  the  case  to  you,  I 
think?" 

I  nodded  rapidly. 

"  I  haven't  troubled  to  make  inquiries,"  added 
Smith,  "  but  I  think  it  probable  that  the  regulation 
respecting  closed  ports  will  come  into  operation  im- 
mediately we  have  passed  the  Straits,  or  at  any  rate 
immediately  there  is  any  likelihood  of  bad  weather." 

"You  mean—" 

"  I  mean  that  no  alteration  should  be  made  in  our 
habits.  A  second  attempt  along  similar  lines  is  to 
be  apprehended  —  to-night.  After  that  we  may  be- 
gin to  look  out  for  a  new  danger." 

"  I  pray  we  may  avoid  it,"  I  said  fervently. 

As  I  entered  the  saloon  for  breakfast  in  the  morn- 
ing, I  was  subjected  to  solicitous  inquiries  from  Mrs. 
Prior,  the  gossip  of  the  ship.  Her  room  adjoined 


THE  TRAGEDY  315 

Karamaneh's  and  she  had  been  one  of  the  passengers 
aroused  by  the  girl's  cries  in  the  night.  Strictly 
adhering  to  my  role,  I  explained  that  my  patient  was 
threatened  with  a  second  nervous  breakdown,  and 
was  subject  to  vivid  and  disturbing  dreams.  One 
or  two  other  inquiries  I  met  in  the  same  way,  ere 
escaping  to  the  corner  table  reserved  to  us. 

That  iron-bound  code  of  conduct  which  rules  the 
Anglo-Indian,  in  the  first  days  of  the  voyage  had 
threatened  to  ostracize  Karamaneh  and  Aziz,  by  rea- 
son of  the  Eastern  blood  to  which  their  brilliant  but 
peculiar  type  of  beauty  bore  witness.  Smith's  atti- 
tude, however  —  and,  in  a  Burmese  commissioner, 
it  constituted  something  of  a  law  —  had  done  much 
to  break  down  the  barriers ;  the  extraordinary  beauty 
of  the  girl  had  done  the  rest.  So  that  now,  far 
from  finding  themselves  shunned,  the  society  of 
Karamaneh  and  her  romantic-looking  brother  was 
universally  courted.  The  last  inquiry  that  morn- 
ing, respecting  my  interesting  patient,  came  from  the 
bishop  of  Damascus,  a  benevolent  old  gentleman 
whose  ancestry  was  not  wholly  innocent  of  Oriental 
strains,  and  who  sat  at  a  table  immediately  behind 
me.  As  I  settled  down  to  my  porridge,  he  turned 
his  chair  slightly  and  bent  to  my  ear. 

"  Mrs.  Prior  tells  me  that  your  charming  friend 
was  disturbed  last  night,"  he  whispered.  "  She 
seems  rather  pale  this  morning;  I  sincerely  trust  that 
she  is  suffering  no  ill-effect." 

I  swung  around,  with  a  smile.     Owing  to  my  care- 


3i6     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

lessness,  there  was  a  slight  collision,  and  the  poor 
bishop,  who  had  been  invalided  to  England  after 
typhoid,  in  order  to  undergo  special  treatment,  sup- 
pressed an  exclamation  of  pain,  although  his  fine 
dark  eyes  gleamed  kindly  upon  me  through  the  peb- 
bles of  his  gold-rimmed  pince-nez. 

Indeed,  despite  his  Eastern  blood,  he  might  have 
posed  for  a  Sadler  picture,  his  small  and  refined  fea- 
tures seeming  out  of  place  above  the  bulky  body. 

"  Can  you  forgive  my  clumsiness,"  I  began  — 

But  the  bishop  raised  his  small,  slim  fingered  hand 
of  old  ivory  hue,  deprecatingly. 

His  system  was  supercharged  with  typhoid  bacilli, 
and,  as  sometimes  occurs,  the  superfluous  "  bugs  " 
had  sought  exit.  He  could  only  walk  with  the  aid 
of  two  stout  sticks,  and  bent  very  much  at  that.  His 
left  leg  had  been  surgically  scraped  to  the  bone,  and 
I  appreciated  the  exquisite  torture  to  which  my  awk- 
wardness had  subjected  him.  But  he  would  enter- 
tain no  apologies,  pressing  his  inquiry  respecting 
Karamaneh,  in  the  kindly  manner  which  had  made 
him  so  deservedly  popular  on  board. 

"  Many  thanks  for  your  solicitude,"  I  said;  "  I 
have  promised  her  sound  repose  to-night,  and  since 
my  professional  reputation  is  at  stake,  I  shall  see 
that  she  secures  it." 

In  short,  we  were  in  pleasant  company,  and  the 
day  passed  happily  enough  and  without  notable 
event.  Smith  spent  some  considerable  time  with 
the  chief  officer,  wandering  about  unfrequented 


THE  TRAGEDY  317. 

parts  of  the  ship.  I  learned  later  that  he  had  ex- 
plored the  lascars'  quarters,  the  forecastle,  the  en- 
gine-room, and  had  even  descended  to  the  stoke- 
hold; but  this  was  done  so  unostentatiously  that  it 
occasioned  no  comment. 

With  the  approach  of  evening,  in  place  of  that 
physical  contentment  which  usually  heralds  the  din- 
ner-hour, at  sea,  I  experienced  a  fit  of  the  seemingly 
causeless  apprehension  which  too  often  in  the  past 
had  harbingered  the  coming  of  grim  events;  which 
I  had  learnt  to  associate  with  the  nearing  presence 
of  one  of  Fu-Manchu's  death-agents.  In  view  of 
the  facts,  as  I  afterwards  knew  them  to  be,  I  can- 
not account  for  this. 

Yet,  in  an  unexpected  manner,  my  forebodings 
were  realized.  That  night  I  was  destined  to  meet 
a  sorrow  surpassing  any  which  my  troubled  life  had 
known.  Even  now  I  experience  great  difficulty  in 
relating  the  matters  which  befell,  in  speaking  of  the 
sense  of  irrevocable  loss  which  came  to  me.  Briefly, 
then,  at  about  ten  minutes  before  the  dining  hour, 
whilst  all  the  passengers,  myself  included,  were  be- 
low, dressing,  a  faint  cry  arose  from  somewhere  aft 
on  the  upper  deck  —  a  cry  which  was  swiftly  taken 
up  by  other  voices,  so  that  presently  a  deck  steward 
echoed  it  immediately  outside  my  own  stateroom: 

"Man  overboard!     Man  overboard!" 

All  my  premonitions  rallying  in  that  one  sicken- 
ing moment,  I  sprang  out  on  the  deck,  half  dressed 
as  I  was,  and  leaping  past  the  boat  which  swung 


3i8     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

nearly  opposite  my  door,  craned  over  the  rail,  look- 
ing astern. 

For  a  long  time  I  could  detect  nothing  unusual. 
The  engine-room  telegraph  was  ringing  —  and  the 
motion  of  the  screws  momentarily  ceased;  then,  in 
response  to  further  ringing,  recommenced,  but  so  as 
to  jar  the  whole  structure  of  the  vessel;  whereby 
I  knew  that  the  engines  were  reversed.  Peering  in- 
tently into  the  wake  of  the  ship,  I  was  but  dimly 
aware  of  the  ever  growing  turmoil  around  me,  of 
the  swift  mustering  of  a  boat's  crew,  of  the  shouted 
orders  of  the  third-officer.  Suddenly  I  saw  it  —  the 
sight  which  was  to  haunt  me  for  succeeding  days  and 
nights. 

Half  in  the  streak  of  the  wake  and  half  out  of  it, 
I  perceived  the  sleeve  of  a  white  jacket,  and,  near  to 
it,  a  soft  felt  hat.  The  sleeve  rose  up  once  into  clear 
view,  seemed  to  describe  a  half-circle  in  the  air  then 
sink  back  again  into  the  glassy  swell  of  the  water. 
Only  the  hat  remained  floating  upon  the  surface. 

By  the  evidence  of  the  white  sleeve  alone  I  might 
have  remained  unconvinced,  although  upon  the  voy- 
age I  had  become  familiar  enough  with  the  drill 
shooting-jacket,  but  the  presence  of  the  gray  felt  hat 
was  almost  conclusive. 

The  man  overboard  was  Nayland  Smith ! 

I  cannot  hope,  writing  now,  to  convey  in  any 
words  at  my  command,  a  sense,  even  remote,  of  the 
utter  loneliness  which  in  that  dreadful  moment  closed 
coldly  down  upon  me. 


THE  TRAGEDY  319 

To  spring  overboard  to  the  rescue  was  a  natural 
impulse,  but  to  have  obeyed  it  would  have  been  worse 
than  quixotic.  In  the  first  place,  the  drowning  man 
was  close  upon  half  a  mile  astern;  in  the  second  place, 
others  had  seen  the  hat  and  the  white  coat  as  clearly 
as  I ;  among  them  the  third-officer,  standing  upright 
in  the  stern  of  the  boat  —  which,  with  commendable 
promptitude  had  already  been  swung  into  the  water. 
The  steamer  was  being  put  about,  describing  a  wide 
arc  around  the  little  boat  dancing  on  the  deep  blue 
rollers.  .  .  . 

Of  the  next  hour,  I  cannot  bear  to  write  at  all. 
Long  as  I  had  known  him,  I  was  ignorant  of  my 
friend's  powers  as  a  swimmer,  but  I  judged  that  he 
must  have  been  a  poor  one  from  the  fact  that  he  had 
sunk  so  rapidly  in  a  calm  sea.  Except  the  hat,  no 
trace  of  Nayland  Smith  remained  when  the  boat 
got  to  the  spot. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  MUMMY 

DINNER  was  out  of  the  question  that  night  for 
all  of  us.  Karamaneh,  who  had  spoken  no 
word,  but,  grasping  my  hands,  had  looked  into  my 
eyes  —  her  own  glassy  with  unshed  tears  —  and  then 
stolen  away  to  her  cabin,  had  not  since  reappeared. 
Seated  upon  my  berth,  I  stared  unseeingly  before 
me,  upon  a  changed  ship,  a  changed  sea  and  sky  — 
upon  another  world.  The  poor  old  bishop,  my 
neighbor,  had  glanced  in  several  times,  as  he  hobbled 
by,  and  his  spectacles  were  unmistakably  humid;  but 
even  he  had  vouchsafed  no  word,  realizing  that  my 
sorrow  was  too  deep  for  such  consolation. 

When  at  last  I  became  capable  of  connected 
thought,  I  found  myself  faced  by  a  big  problem. 
Should  I  place  the  facts  of  the  matter,  as  I  knew  them 
to  be,  before  the  captain?  or  could  I  hope  to  appre- 
hend Fu-Manchu's  servant  by  the  methods  suggested 
by  my  poor  friend?  That  Smith's  death  was  an 
accident,  I  did  not  believe  for  a  moment;  it  was  im- 
possible not  to  link  it  with  the  attempt  upon  Kara- 
maneh. In  my  misery  and  doubt,  I  determined  to 
take  counsel  with  Dr.  Stacey.  I  stood  up,  and 
passed  out  on  to  the  deck. 

320 


THE  MUMMY  321 

Those  passengers  whom  I  met  on  my  way  to  his 
room  regarded  me  in  respectful  silence.  By  con- 
trast, Stacey's  attitude  surprised  and  even  annoyed 
me. 

"  I'd  be  prepared  to  stake  all  I  possess  —  al- 
though it's  not  much,"  he  said,  "  that  this  was  not 
the  work  of  your  hidden  enemy." 

He  blankly  refused  to  give  me  his  reasons  for  the 
statement  and  strongly  advised  me  to  watch  and 
wait  but  to  make  no  communication  to  the  captain. 

At  this  hour  I  can  look  back  and  savor  again  some- 
thing of  the  profound  dejection  of  that  time.  I 
could  not  face  the  passengers;  I  even  avoided 
Karamaneh  and  Aziz.  I  shut  myself  in  my  cabin 
and  sat  staring  aimlessly  into  the  growing  darkness. 
The  steward  knocked,  once,  inquiring  if  I  needed 
anything,  but  I  dismissed  him  abruptly.  So  I 
passed  the  evening  and  the  greater  part  of  the  night. 

Those  groups  of  promenaders  who  passed  my 
door,  invariably  were  discussing  my  poor  friend's 
tragic  end;  but  as  the  night  wore  on,  the  deck  grew 
empty,  and  I  sat  amid  a  silence  that  in  my  miserable 
state  I  welcomed  more  than  the  presence  of  any 
friend,  saving  only  the  one  whom  I  should  never 
welcome  again. 

Since  I  had  not  counted  the  bells,  to  this  day  I 
have  only  the  vaguest  idea  respecting  the  time 
whereat  the  next  incident  occurred  which  it  is  my 
duty  to  chronicle.  Perhaps  I  was  on  the  verge  of 
falling  asleep,  seated  there  as  I  was;  at  any  rate,  I 


322     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

could  scarcely  believe  myself  awake,  when,  un- 
heralded by  any  footsteps  to  indicate  his  coming, 
some  one  who  seemed  to  be  crouching  outside  my 
stateroom,  slightly  raised  himself  and  peered  in 
through  the  porthole  —  which  I  had  not  troubled  to 
close. 

He  must  have  been  a  fairly  tall  man  to  have  looked 
in  at  all,  and  although  his  features  were  indistinguish- 
able in  the  darkness,  his  outline,  which  was  clearly 
perceptible  against  the  white  boat  beyond,  was  un- 
familiar to  me.  He  seemed  to  have  a  small,  and 
oddly  swathed  head,  and  what  I  could  make  out  of 
the  gaunt  neck  and  square  shoulders  in  some  way 
suggested  an  unnatural  thinness ;  in  short,  the  smudgy 
silhouette  in  the  porthole  was  weirdly  like  that  of 
a  mummy! 

For  some  moments  I  stared  at  the  apparition; 
then,  rousing  myself  from  the  apathy  into  which  I 
had  sunk,  I  stood  up  very  quickly  and  stepped  across 
the  room.  As  I  did  so  the  figure  vanished,  and 
when  I  threw  open  the  door  and  looked  out  upon 
the  deck  .  .  .  the  deck  was  wholly  untenanted ! 

I  realized  at  once  that  it  would  be  useless,  even 
had  I  chosen  the  course,  to  seek  confirmation  of 
what  I  had  seen  from  the  officer  on  the  bridge:  my 
own  berth,  together  with  the  one  adjoining  —  that 
of  the  bishop  —  was  not  visible  from  the  bridge. 

For  some  time  I  stood  in  my  doorway,  wondering 
in  a  disinterested  fashion  which  now  I  cannot  ex- 


THE  MUMMY  323 

plain,  if  the  hidden  enemy  had  revealed  himself  to 
me,  or  if  disordered  imagination  had  played  me  a 
trick.  Later,  I  was  destined  to  know  the  truth  of 
the  matter,  but  when  at  last  I  fell  into  a  troubled 
sleep,  that  night,  I  was  still  in  some  doubt  upon  the 
point. 

My  state  of  mind  when  I  awakened  on  the  fol- 
lowing day  was  indescribable;  I  found  it  difficult  to 
doubt  that  Nayland  Smith  would  meet  me  on  the 
way  to  the  bathroom  as  usual,  with  the  cracked  briar 
fuming  between  his  teeth.  I  felt  myself  almost  com- 
pelled to  pass  around  to  his  stateroom  in  order  to 
convince  myself  that  he  was  not  really  there.  The 
catastrophe  was  still  unreal  to  me,  and  the  world  a 
dream-world.  Indeed  I  retain  scarcely  any  recol- 
lections of  the  traffic  of  that  day,  or  of  the  days 
that  followed  it  until  we  reached  Port  Said. 

Two  things  only  made  any  striking  appeal  to  my 
dulled  intelligence  at  that  time.  These  were :  the 
aloof  attitude  of  Dr.  Stacey,  who  seemed  carefully 
to  avoid  me;  and  a  curious  circumstance  which  the 
second  officer  mentioned  in  conversation  one  even- 
ing as  we  strolled  up  and  down  the  main  deck  to- 
gether. 

"  Either  I  was  fast  asleep  at  my  post,  Dr.  Petrie," 
he  said,  "  or  last  night,  in  the  middle  watch,  some 
one  or  something  came  over  the  side  of  the  ship  just 
aft  the  bridge,  slipped  across  the  deck,  and  disap- 
peared." 


324    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

I  stared  at  him  wonderingly. 

"  Do  you  mean  something  that  came  up  out  of 
the  sea?  "  I  said. 

"  Nothing  could  very  well  have  come  up  out  of 
the  sea,"  he  replied,  smiling  slightly,  "  so  that  it 
must  have  come  up  from  the  deck  below." 

"Was  it  a  man?" 

"  It  looked  like  a  man,  and  a  fairly  tall  one,  but 
he  came  and  was  gone  like  a  flash,  and  I  saw  no 
more  of  him  up  to  the  time  I  was  relieved.  To  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  did  not  report  it  because  I  thought 
I  must  have  been  dozing;  it's  a  dead  slow  watch,  and 
the  navigation  on  this  part  of  the  run  is  child's  play." 

I  was  on  the  point  of  telling  him  what  I  had  seen 
myself,  two  evenings  before,  but  for  some  reason  I 
refrained  from  doing  so,  although  I  think  had  I 
confided  in  him  he  would  have  abandoned  the  idea 
that  what  he  had  seen  was  phantasmal;  for  the  pair 
of  us  could  not  very  well  have  been  dreaming. 
Some  malignant  presence  haunted  the  ship;  I  could 
not  doubt  this;  yet  I  remained  passive,  sunk  in  a 
lethargy  of  sorrow. 

We  were  scheduled  to  reach  Port  Said  at  about 
eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  but  by  reason  of  the  de- 
lay occasioned  so  tragically,  I  learned  that  in  all  prob- 
ability we  should  not  arrive  earlier  than  midnight, 
whilst  passengers  would  not  go  ashore  until  the  fol- 
lowing morning.  Karamaneh,  who  had  been  star- 
ing ahead  all  day,  seeking  a  first  glimpse  of  her  na- 
tive land,  was  determined  to  remain  up  until  the 


THE  MUMMY  325 

hour  of  our  arrival,  but  after  dinner  a  notice  was 
posted  up  stating  that  we  should  not  be  in  before  two 
A.  M.  Even  those  passengers  who  were  the  most 
enthusiastic  thereupon  determined  to  postpone,  for  a 
few  hours,  their  first  glimpse  of  the  land  of  the 
Pharaohs  and  even  to  forego  the  sight  —  one  of  the 
strangest  and  most  interesting  in  the  world  —  of 
Port  Said  by  night. 

For  my  own  part,  I  confess  that  all  the  interest 
and  hope  with  which  I  had  looked  forward  to  our 
arrival,  had  left  me,  and  often  I  detected  tears  in 
the  eyes  of  Karamaneh;  whereby  I  knew  that  the 
coldness  in  my  heart  had  manifested  itself  even  to 
her.  I  had  sustained  the  greatest  blow  of  my  life, 
and  not  even  the  presence  of  so  lovely  a  companion 
could  entirely  recompense  me  for  the  loss  of  my  dear- 
est friend. 

The  lights  on  the  Egyptian  shore  were  faintly  visi- 
ble when  the  last  group  of  stragglers  on  deck  broke 
up.  I  had  long  since  prevailed  upon  Karamaneh 
to  retire,  and  now,  utterly  sick  at  heart,  I  sought  my 
own  stateroom,  mechanically  undressed,  and  turned 
in. 

It  may,  or  may  not  be  singular  that  I  had  neglected 
all  precautions  since  the  night  of  the  tragedy;  I  was 
not  even  conscious  of  a  desire  to  visit  retribution 
upon  our  hidden  enemy;  in  some  strange  fashion  I 
took  it  for  granted  that  there  would  be  no  further 
attempts  upon  Karamaneh,  Aziz,  or  myself.  I  had 
not  troubled  to  confirm  Smith's  surmise  respecting 


326     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

the  closing  of  the  portholes;  but  I  know  now  for  a 
fact  that,  whereas  they  had  been  closed  from  the 
time  of  our  leaving  the  Straits  of  Messina,  to-night, 
in  sight  of  the  Egyptian  coast,  the  regulation  was 
relaxed  again.  I  cannot  say  if  this  is  usual,  but  that 
it  occurred  on  this  ship  is  a  fact  to  which  I  can 
testify  —  a  fact  to  which  my  attention  was  to  be 
drawn  dramatically. 

The  night  was  steamingly  hot,  and  because  I  wel- 
comed the  circumstance  that  my  own  port  was  widely 
opened,  I  reflected  that  those  on  the  lower  decks 
might  be  open  also.  A  faint  sense  of  danger  stirred 
within  me;  indeed,  I  sat  upright  and  was  about  to 
spring  out  of  my  berth  when  that  occurred  which 
induced  me  to  change  my  mind. 

All  passengers  had  long  since  retired,  and  a  mid- 
night silence  descended  upon  the  ship,  for  we  were 
not  yet  close  enough  to  port  for  any  unusual  activi- 
ties to  have  commenced. 

Clearly  outlined  in  the  open  porthole  there  sud- 
denly arose  that  same  grotesque  silhouette  which  I 
had  seen  once  before. 

Prompted  by  I  know  not  what,  I  lay  still  and 
simulated  heavy  breathing;  for  it  was  evident  to  me 
that  I  must  be  partly  visible  to  the  watcher,  so  bright 
was  the  night.  For  ten  —  twenty  —  thirty  seconds 
he  studied  me  in  absolute  silence,  that  gaunt  thing  so 
like  a  mummy;  and,  with  my  eyes  partly  closed,  I 
watched  him,  breathing  heavily  all  the  time.  Then, 
making  no  more  noise  than  a  cat,  he  moved  away 


THE  MUMMY  327 

across  the  deck,  and  I  could  judge  of  his  height  by 
the  fact  that  his  small,  swathed  head  remained  visible 
almost  to  the  time  that  he  passed  to  the  end  of  the 
white  boat  which  swung  opposite  my  stateroom. 

In  a  moment  I  slipped  quietly  to  the  floor,  crossed, 
and  peered  out  of  the  porthole;  so  that  at  last  I 
had  a  clear  view  of  the  sinister  mummy-man.  He 
was  crouching  under  the  bow  of  the  boat,  and  at- 
taching to  the  white  rails,  below,  a  contrivance  of  a 
kind  with  which  I  was  not  entirely  unfamiliar.  This 
was  a  thin  ladder  of  silken  rope,  having  bamboo 
rungs,  with  two  metal  hooks  for  attaching  it  to  any 
suitable  object. 

The  one  thus  engaged  was,  as  Karamaneh  had 
declared,  almost  superhumanly  thin.  His  loins  were 
swathed  in  a  sort  of  linen  garment,  and  his  head  so 
bound  about,  turban  fashion,  that  only  his  gleaming 
eyes  remained  visible.  The  bare  limbs  and  body 
were  of  a  dusky  yellow  color,  and,  at  sight  of  him,  I 
experienced  a  sudden  nausea. 

My  pistol  was  in  my  cabin-trunk,  and  to  have 
found  it  in  the  dark,  without  making  a  good  deal  of 
noise,  would  have  been  impossible.  Doubting  how 
I  should  act,  I  stood  watching  the  man  with  the 
swathed  head  whilst  he  threw  the  end  of  the  ladder 
over  the  side,  crept  past  the  bow  of  the  boat,  and 
swung  his  gaunt  body  over  the  rail,  exhibiting  the 
agility  of  an  ape.  One  quick  glance  fore  and  aft  he 
gave,  then  began  to  swarm  down  the  ladder :  in  which 
instant  I  knew  his  mission. 


328     THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

With  a  choking  cry,  which  forced  itself  unwilled 
from  my  lips,  I  tore  at  the  door,  threw  it  open,  and 
sprang  across  the  deck.  Plans,  I  had  none,  and 
since  I  carried  no  instrument  wherewith  to  sever  the 
ladder,  the  murderer  might  indeed  have  carried  out 
his  design  for  all  that  I  could  have  done  to  prevent 
him,  were  it  not  that  another  took  a  hand  in  the 
game.  .  .  . 

At  the  moment  that  the  mummy-man  —  his  head 
now  on  a  level  with  the  deck  —  perceived  me,  he 
stopped  dead.  Coincident  with  his  stopping,  the 
crack  of  a  pistol  shot  sounded  —  from  immediately 
beyond  the  boat. 

Uttering  a  sort  of  sobbing  sound,  the  creature 
fell  —  then  clutched,  with  straining  yellow  fingers,  at 
the  rails,  and,  seemingly  by  dint  of  a  great  effort, 
swarmed  along  aft  some  twenty  feet,  with  incredible 
swiftness  and  agility,  and  clambered  onto  the  deck. 

A  second  shot  cracked  sharply;  and  a  voice  (God! 
was  I  mad ! )  cried :  "  Hold  him,  Petrie !  " 

Rigid  with  fearful  astonishment  I  stood,  as  out 
from  the  boat  above  me  leaped  a  figure  attired  solely 
in  shirt  and  trousers.  The  newcomer  leaped  away 
in  the  wake  of  the  mummy-man  —  who  had  vanished 
around  the  corner  by  the  smoke-room.  Over  his 
shoulder  he  cried  back  at  me : 

"  The  bishop's  stateroom !  See  that  no  one  en- 
ters!" 

I  clutched  at  my  head  —  which  seemed  to  be  fiery 


THE  MUMMY  329 

hot;  I  realized  in  my  own  person  the  sensation  of 
one  who  knows  himself  mad. 

For  the  man  who  pursued  the  mummy  was  Nay- 
land  Smith! 


I  stood  in  the  bishop's  state-room,  Nayland  Smith, 
his  gaunt  face  wet  with  perspiration,  beside  me,  han- 
dling certain  odd  looking  objects  which  littered  the 
place,  and  lay  about  amid  the  discarded  garments  of 
the  absent  cleric. 

"  Pneumatic  pads !  "  he  snapped.  "  The  man 
was  a  walking  air-cushion !  "  He  gingerly  fingered 
two  strange  rubber  appliances.  "  For  distending  the 
cheeks,"  he  muttered,  dropping  them  disgustedly  on 
the  floor.  "  His  hands  and  wrists  betrayed  him, 
Petrie.  He  wore  his  cuffs  unusually  long  but  he 
could  not  entirely  hide  his  bony  wrists.  To  have 
watched  him,  whilst  remaining  myself  unseen,  was 
next  to  impossible;  hence  my  device  of  tossing  a 
dummy  overboard,  calculated  to  float  for  less  than 
ten  minutes !  It  actually  floated  nearly  fifteen,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  and  I  had  some  horrible  moments !  " 

"Smith!"  I  said — "how  could  you  submit 
me  .  .  ." 

He  clapped  his  hands  on  my  shoulders. 

"  My  dear  old  chap  —  there  was  no  other  way, 
believe  me.  From  that  boat  I  could  see  right  into- 
his  stateroom,  but,  once  in,  I  dare  not  leave  it  —  ex- 


330    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MANCHU 

cept  late  at  night,  stealthily!  The  second  spotted 
me  one  night  and  I  thought  the  game  was  up,  but 
evidently  he  didn't  report  it." 

"  But  you  might  have  confided  .  .  ." 

"  Impossible !  I'll  admit  I  nearly  fell  to  the  temp- 
tation that  first  night;  for  I  could  see  into  your  room 
as  well  as  into  his!  "  He  slapped  me  boisterously 
on  the  back,  but  his  gray  eyes  were  suspiciously  moist. 
"Dear  old  Petrie!  Thank  God  for  our  friends! 
But  you'd  be  the  first  to  admit,  old  man,  that  you're 
a  dead  rotten  actor!  Your  portrayal  of  grief  for 
the  loss  of  a  valued  chum  would  not  have  convinced 
a  soul  on  board! 

•  "  Therefore  I  made  use  of  Stacey,  whose  callous 
attitude  was  less  remarkable.  Gad,  Petrie !  I 
nearly  bagged  our  man  the  first  night!  The  elabo- 
rate plan  —  Marconi  message  to  get  you  out  of  the 
way,  and  so  forth  —  had  miscarried,  and  he  knew 
the  porthole  trick  would  be  useless  once  we  got  into 
the  open  sea.  He  took  a  big  chance.  He  discarded 
his  clerical  guise  and  peeped  into  your  room  —  you 
remember  ?  —  but  you  were  awake,  and  I  made  no 
move  when  he  slipped  back  to  his  own  cabin;  I 
wanted  to  take  him  red-handed." 

"  Have  you  any  idea  ..." 

"  Who  he  is  ?  No  more  than  where  he  is !  Prob- 
ably some  creature  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu  specially 
chosen  for  the  purpose;  obviously  a  man  of  culture, 
and  probably  of  thug  ancestry.  I  hit  him  —  in  the 
shoulder;  but  even  then  he  ran  like  a  hare.  We've 


THE  MUMMY  331 

searched  the  ship,  without  result.  He  may  have 
gone  overboard  and  chanced  the  swim  to  shore  .  .  ." 

We  stepped  out  onto  the  deck.  Around  us  was 
that  unforgettable  scene  —  Port  Said  by  night. 
The  ship  was  barely  moving  through  the  glassy 
water,  now.  Smith  took  my  arm  and  we  walked  for- 
ward. Above  us  was  the  mighty  peace  of  Egypt's 
sky  ablaze  with  splendor;  around  and  about  us  moved 
the  unique  turmoil  of  the  clearing-house  of  the  Near 
East. 

"  I  would  give  much  to  know  the  real  identity  of 
the  bishop  of  Damascus,"  muttered  Smith. 

He  stopped  abruptly,  snapping  his  teeth  together 
and  grasping  my  arm  as  in  a  vise.  Hard  upon  his 
words  had  followed  the  rattling  clangor  as  the  great 
anchor  was  let  go;  but  horribly  intermingled  with 
the  metallic  roar  there  came  to  us  such  a  fearful,  in- 
articulate shrieking  as  to  chill  one's  heart. 

The  anchor  plunged  into  the  water  of  the  harbor; 
the  shrieking  ceased.  Smith  turned  to  me,  and  his 
face  was  tragic  in  the  light  of  the  arc  lamp  swung 
hard  by. 

"  We  shall  never  know,"  he  whispered.  "  God 
forgive  him  —  he  must  be  in  bloody  tatters  now. 
Petrie,  the  poor  fool  was  hiding  in  the  chain- 
locker!  " 

A  little  hand  stole  into  mine.  I  turned  quickly. 
Karamaneh  stood  beside  me.  I  placed  my  arm  about 
her  shoulders,  drawing  her  close;  and  I  blush  to  re- 
late that  all  else  was  forgotten. 


332    THE  RETURN  OF  DR.  FU-MAXCHU 

For  a  moment,  heedless  of  the  fearful  turmoil 
forward,  Nayland  Smith  stood  looking  at  us.  Then 
he  turned,  with  his  rare  smile,  and  walked  aft. 

"  Perhaps  you're  right,  Petrie !  "  he  said. 


THE  END 


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Proof  of  the  Pudding,  The.    By  Meredith  Nicholson. 


Rainbow's  End,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Ranch  at  the  Wolverine,  The.     By  B.  M.  Bowe?. 

Ranching  for  Sylvia.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Ransom.     By  Arthur  Somers  Roche. 

Reason  Why,  The.     By  Elinor  Glyn. 

Reclaimers,  The.     By  Margaret  Hill  McCarten 

Red  Mist,  The.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Red  Pepper  Burns.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Red  Pepper's  Patients.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Rejuvenation  of  Aunt  Mary,  The.     By  Anne  Warner. 

Restless  Sex,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Return  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  The.     By  Sax  Rohmer. 

Return  of  Tarzan,  The.     By  Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 

Riddle  of  Night,  The.     By  Thomas  W.  Hanshew. 

Rim  of  the  Desert,  The.     By  Ada  Woodruff  Anderson. 

Rise  of  Roscoe  Paine,  The.    By  J.  C.  Lincoln. 

Rising  Tide,  The.     By  Margaret  Deland. 


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Rocks  of  Valpre,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Rogue  by  Compulsion,  A.     By  Victor  Bridges. 

Room  Number  3.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Rose  in  the  Ring,  The.     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Rose  of  Old  Harpeth,  The.     By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess. 

Round  the  Corner  in  Gay  Street.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Second  Choice.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Second  Violin,  The.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Secret  History.     By  C.  N.  &  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Secret  of  the  Reef,  The.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Seven  Darlings,  The.     By  Gouverneur  Morris. 

Shavings.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Shepherd  of  the  Hills,  The.     By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Sherry.     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Side  of  the  Angels,  The.    By  Basil  King. 

Silver  Horde,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Sin  That  Was  His,  The.     By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

Sixty-first  Second,  The.     By  Owen  Johnson. 

Soldier  of  the  Legion,  A.     By  C.  N.  &  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Son  of  His  Father,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Son  of  Tarzan,  The.     By  Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 

Source,  The.     By  Clarence  Buddington  Kelland. 

Speckled  Bird,  A.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Spirit  in  Prison,  A.     By  Robert  Hichens. 

Spirit  of  the  Border,  The.     (New  Edition.)     By  Zane  Grey. 

Spoilers,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Steele  of  the  Royal  Mounted.    By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Still  Jim.     By  Honore  Willsie. 

Story  of  Foss  River  Ranch,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Story  of  Marco,  The.     By  Eleanor  H.  Porter. 

Strange  Case  of  Cavendish,  The.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Strawberry  Acres.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Sudden  Jim.    By  Clarence  B.  Kelland. 

Tales  of  Sherlock  Holmes.  By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 
Tarzan  of  the  Apes.  By  Edgar  R.  Burroughs. 
Tarzan  and  the  Jewels  of  Opar.  By  Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 


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Tempting  of  Tavernake,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles.    By  Thos.  Hardy. 

Thankful's  Inheritance.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

That  Affair  Next  Door.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

That  Printer  of  Udell's.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Their  Yesterdays.     By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Thirteenth  Commandment,  The.     By  Rupert  Hughes. 

Three  of  Hearts,  The.    By  Berta  Ruck. 

Three  Strings,  The.     By  Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln. 

Threshold,  The.     By  Marjorie  Benton  Cooke. 

Throwback,  The.     By  Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 

Tish.    By  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

To  M.  L.  G.;  or,  He  Who  Passed.    Anon. 

Trail  of  the  Axe,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Trail  to  Yesterday,  The.    By  Chas.  A.  Seltzer. 

Treasure  of  Heaven,  The.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Triumph,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

T.  Tembarom.     By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett. 

Turn  of  the  Tide.     By  Author  of  "Pollyanna." 

Twenty-fourth  of  June,  The.     By  Grace  S.   Richmond. 

Twins  of  Suffering  Creek,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Two-Gun  Man,  The.    By  Chas.  A.  Seltzer. 


Uncle  William.    By  Jeannette  Lee. 

Under  Handicap.    By  Jackson  Gregory. 

Under  the  Country  Sky.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Unforgiving  Offender,  The.     By  John  Reed  Scott. 

Unknown  Mr.  Kent,  The.     By  Roy  Norton. 

Unpardonable  Sin,  The.    By  Major  Rupert  Hughes. 

Up  From  Slavery.     By  Booker  T.  Washington. 

Valiants  of  Virginia,  The.    By  Hallie  Ermine  Rives. 
Valley  of  Fear,  The.    By  Sir  A.  Conan  Doyle. 
Vanished  Messenger,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Vanguards  of  the  Plains.    By  Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 
Vashti.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 
Virtuous  Wives.     By  Owen  Johnson. 
Visioning,  The.    By  Susan  Glaspell. 


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Waif-o'-the-Sea.     By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 

Wall  of  Men,  A.     By  Margaret  H.  McCarter. 

Watchers  of  the  Plans,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Way  Home,  The.    By  Basil  King. 

Way  of  an  Eagle,  The.    By  E.  M.  Dell. 

Way  of  the  Strong,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Way  of  These  Women,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

We  Can't  Have  Everything.     By  Major  Rupert  Hughes. 

Weavers,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

When  a  Man's  a  Man.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

When  Wilderness  Was  King.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Where  the  Trail  Divides.     By  Will  Lillibridge. 

Where  There's  a  Will.    By  Mary  R.  Rinehart. 

White  Sister,  The.     By  Marion  Crawford. 

Who  Goes  There?    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Why  Not.     By  Margaret  Widdemer. 

Window  at  the  White  Cat,  The.    By  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Winds  of  Chance,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Wings  of  Youth,  The.    By  Elizabeth  Jordan. 

Winning  of  Barbara  Worth,  The.     By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Wire  Devils,  The.     By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

Winning  the  Wilderness.     By  Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

Wishing  Ring  Man,  The.     By  Margaret  Widdemer. 

With  Juliet  in  England.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Wolves  of  the  Sea.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Woman  Gives,  The.    By  Owen  Johnson. 

Woman  Haters,  The.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Woman  in  Question,  The.     By  John  Reed  Scott. 

Woman  Thou  Gavest  Me,  The.     By  Hall  Caine. 

Woodcarver  of  'Lympus,  The.     By  Mary  E.  Waller. 

Wooing  of  Rosamond  Fayre,  The.    By  Berta  Ruck. 

World  for  Sale,  The.    By  Gilbert-Parker. 

Years  for  Rachel,  The.    By  Berta  Ruck. 

Yellow  Claw,  The.     By  Sax  Rohmer. 

You  Never  Know  Your  Luck.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Zeppelin's  Passenger,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 


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